


Firestorm

by LadyLethe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Slow Burn, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLethe/pseuds/LadyLethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin’s journey to the ground began with her locked in a cramped cell awaiting execution for treason. It was fitting, she thought, that it would end the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Turning and turning in the widening gyre_

_The falcon cannot hear the falconer;_

_Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;_

_Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,_

_The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere_

_The ceremony of innocence is drowned;_

_The best lack all conviction, while the worst_

_Are full of passionate intensity_

-William Butler Yeats

* * *

 

     Clarke Griffin’s journey to the ground began with her locked in a cramped cell awaiting execution for treason. It was fitting, she thought, that it would end the same way.

     Maybe some would find her resignation disturbing, but she was never supposed to survive her eighteenth birthday, and that knowledge had hung over her head since the day had come and gone in the months after the Mountain fell. Maybe she had just been living on borrowed time.

     It wasn’t that she was ready to die; no one ever is. There were so many things she had read about Earth; good things, beautiful things. she longed to take in with her own senses. She wanted to experience the raw power of the ocean, to feel the sea spray in her face and warm sand beneath her toes. She wanted to see the land blanketed by winter’s first snowfall, to see the exquisite symmetry of a snowflake up close. She wanted to see the children she led grow and realize their potential, to be there when they started families of their own. She wanted more time with those she held most precious. More than anything, she wanted to live, but if this was to be her end, she could at least be comforted by knowing it wasn’t meaningless.

     She weighed her heart on the scales of judgement and wondered whether her good deeds would be enough to counter the blemishes on her soul. She prayed this last act would tip the balance in her favor, but she had carried the burden of too many terrible choices for too long to know if she had a chance of redemption.

     Unknowns, doubts and fears had haunted her since that fateful day she had chosen her father’s side in a decision that would rock the foundations of their society, and tear her family apart forever. In the end, had she truly changed things for the better? Would this, her swan song, really make the difference she hoped it would?

     Ah, there it was, the word that had her putting one foot in front of the other, which had her rising to meet her fate: hope.

     There were many things she would never know for sure, but there were enough things she believed in to make everything worthwhile.

     She believed the darkness wouldn’t always surround them, that one day her people would turn their faces to the light.

     She believed in the strength of those who had fought alongside her, those brilliant souls she felt honored to call friends.

     Most of all, she believed in Bellamy Blake.

     And those beliefs were worth dying for.

     This was her story. She was a girl born to privilege who felt more at home with a group of delinquents than she ever had amongst her peers in the clean confinement of Alpha Station. The same deft hands she had used to save lives had also taken them. She had an iron will, a broken heart, and unwavering loyalty.

     Love had never been a weakness; it was her greatest strength.

     She was Clarke of the Sky People, and she only had one thing left to give them.


	2. Ashes

Far in the distance, the first hint of light was finally touching the sky, turning the horizon a hazy gray. Clarke sighed and sat up quickly, the pine boughs in her makeshift bed crackling under her shifting weight. The nights were getting longer, a change she was acutely aware of since she wasn’t sleeping through most of them. They were also getting colder, and it wouldn’t be long before the sole blanket she had in her possession wasn’t going to provide enough protection against the elements.

She wondered if her first winter on the ground would be her last.

Wells would have admonished her for even considering the possibility; but then, Wells would have already found himself a completely weatherproof shelter in a perfect location, and probably had a wardrobe made of animal furs by this point. He was always so much better at this kind of thing than she was.

Clarke tied her blanket into a makeshift sling and half crawled, half scooted her way out of the small cave she called home.

It had taken her a while to find this place, more a shallow hollow worn out of a hillside than a true cave. At the time she had been half drowned and shivering because she’d been paying more attention to the storm inside her heart than the rapidly gathering clouds that heralded a real one.

When she had first left Camp Jaha, she had gone to the dropship, the place where one hundred children had banded together and fought for their survival, where they had grown up and become a family. Her first night was filled with whispers and shadows, the second with memories, and in the morning, she passed by the graves and moved on. The dropship wasn’t a refuge without the chorus of familiar voices within its walls.

She had gone to the ruins of TonDC after that, to stand in the charred remains of the thousands of lives she could have saved. Pale and trembling, she’d walked amidst the ashes like a ghost. She had lain down where Finn had burned, silent tears making tracks through the soot on her cheeks. Morning found her curled into herself, aching and weary. She spent the next day digging up wildflowers and carefully planting them in the scorched earth, trying to bring color to a place that was so terribly gray.

Mount Weather hadn’t been any better. What force compelled her to return so soon after she’d left was a mystery. She knew she wouldn’t find peace, not when she could perfectly recall exactly what she’d endured, and what horrors she’d inflicted in return. She stayed outside the door that had once seemed impenetrable, unable to deal with the eerie silence of the long, dark hallways, unable to face the terrible sight she knew would greet her on level five.

The Mountain had transformed from a threat into a tomb, and what it had become was just as terrifying as what it had been.

She made a fire, and with the ashes sketched a portrait of Maya on the door’s cool metal, whispering choked apologies to the spirits of those she’d executed with the simple pull of a lever.

After that she’d wandered, unsure of what she was searching for, and equally sure she couldn’t go back to face those she had tread the path to perdition for. Even as she used the stars and the landmarks for direction, she realized she had never been so lost. There was no clear course for a rudderless soul.

It had taken a breakdown, a sudden downpour, and encroaching darkness for Clarke to realize she would get herself killed if she continued on the way she had been; and then a flash of lightning had illuminated a small clearing with a shelter of solid rock to keep her dry.

She’d been there two months.

Eyeing the entrance critically, Clarke decided she would need to narrow it to keep the colder air from flowing in so easily. Luckily she was planning a trek to the river today, so she would be able to start gathering rocks to stack in front.

Her day always started with a stop at one of her caches for breakfast. Keeping her supplies in different locations was something she had learned the hard way, after a bear had come snooping around her camp and eaten an entire week’s supply of berries.This morning’s fare consisted of dried strips of seaweed livened by a handful of nuts she had stashed in a hollowed stump. She ate as she walked, keeping to the cover of the trees, reluctant to stay out in the open for any longer than was necessary.

She had come across a Grounder trap in this part of the woods once before, a deadfall she’d only just avoided triggering. She didn’t know which tribe inhabited the area, or whether they were more likely to be friend or foe, but she wasn’t taking any chances. It would easier if she never crossed paths with them, but if that couldn’t be avoided, she wanted to make sure she wasn’t the one caught by surprise.

The closer she got to the river, the more danger she was in. There was no telling who or what she might run into in their search for one of life’s necessities, and the rushing water would make it harder for her to pick up on any suspicious sounds.

The longer of her two knives hung from her belt at an angle that would make it possible for her to slash as she pulled it free, while the smaller was tucked into her opposite boot, a backup she could remove in the space of a heartbeat.

_Those are the survival skills I’m good at_ , Clarke thought grimly, _I am adept at destruction and death._

Finally the trees gave way to reveal her destination, and as with every previous visit, she was struck by how beautiful the world could be when one’s vision wasn’t clouded by monsters and violence.

With one last glance at her surroundings, she crossed the stone flats to the river’s edge and tentatively stuck her hand in the water. It had definitely gotten colder since the last time she’d been there. Shrugging out of her bag and jacket, she pulled out her sliver of wood ash soap and quickly washed her hair and face, gasping at the icy sensation. The rest of her bath would have to wait until she could heat the water in the safety of her camp.

Next she filled up her water skins. It had taken a lot of trial and error, but Clarke had managed to craft three of them out of birch bark during her wanderings, something she had been ridiculously proud of at the time. Even now, the memory filled her with a sense of satisfaction.

The corners of her mouth tugged up ever so slightly; Bellamy would have…

Her half smile turned to a frown, and she shook the thought away as she shoved the containers back in her bag. She quickly gathered as many rocks as she could carry, then started back the way she’d come, the serenity of the place having suddenly lost its appeal.

The added weight made the hike more strenuous, something she was thankful for. Torn between the need to be alert and the discomfort the exertion was causing her body, there was no room for any other thoughts to intrude. Breathing ragged, heart pounding in her ears, she was just reaching the edge of her clearing when she saw a flash of dark hair and pale skin out of the corner of her eye.

Her reaction was pure instinct; she spun and kicked, dropping her bag in the process. Her foot came into contact with a knee, eliciting a sharp yell from its owner. She used the distraction to tackle the intruder from behind, knife flashing to settle against a now exposed throat.

“What are you doing here?” She panted, adrenaline racing as she scanned the trees for other attackers, “Did you come alone?”

“Clarke, is that you?” The voice was muffled, but unmistakable.

“Murphy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and kind comments! I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Constructive criticism is more than welcome!


	3. Embers

Clarke stared at her prisoner, shock turning her immobile. Murphy had disappeared in the middle of the war with Mount Weather along with Jaha and his followers, but she had been too busy to worry about them at the time. Where had they gone? Why was Murphy here now? Where were the others?

“Would you mind getting off of me?” The voice below her was starting to sound impatient. Keeping her knife pressed against his neck, she moved enough that Murphy could roll over. It would be easier to determine if he was lying if they were face to face.

“What are you doing here?” She asked again, her tone no friendlier than before.

He coughed, and she took note of his chapped lips and the peeling skin in the lines of his face. “I could ask you the same question,” he tried grinning and the movement split his lower lip, “Do you have any water?”

Clarke responded with a pointed stare.

Murphy rolled his eyes, “Good to see your attitude toward the treatment of prisoners hasn’t changed, Princess.”

The name made her flinch, and the fingers of her free hand dug into the ground, clenching the soft soil like a lifeline.

“Murphy…” It came out as a growl.

“Okay, okay!” He shifted, and she tensed in response. “Look, I’d raise my hands in surrender but you’re kind of sitting on them. Just take it easy and I’ll tell you everything. I have to tell someone; that’s why I’m out here in the first place.”

That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “You weren’t looking for me?”

“I’m looking for whoever will listen.” He coughed again, “I wasn’t sure if the camp was still there or if it had been wiped out by Grounders or those psychos from the mountain, but that was where I was headed. I wasn’t expecting to be attacked by some half-starved, crazy girl on my way there, but I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Clarke weighed her options; she still didn’t trust him, but if Murphy was telling the truth, whatever he had to say was important enough for him to seek out the people he resented without even knowing if they were still alive.

She sighed and removed the knife from his throat, “I’m going to let you up, but if you so much as move in a way I find threatening, I won’t hesitate to use this on you.”

“Duly noted,” he replied sardonically.

Just to be sure he couldn’t make a quick grab for her when she was vulnerable, Clarke made sure to dig a knee into his side as she stood up.

While Murphy spat a stream of unintelligible words that she was sure weren’t friendly, she retrieved her bag and tossed him a water skin.

“You’re going to walk in front of me until we make it to my camp, and then you’re going to tell me everything.”

* * *

The story Murphy told her would have seemed too incredible to be true if she hadn’t run from a fog that melted skin, been attacked by a giant gorilla, or seen men turned into savages by a single dose of red serum. With everything they’d experienced on the ground, finding a mansion on an island which could only be reached by crossing a minefield seemed tame in comparison.

“How many of the people who went with you survived?” Clarke asked, absently tapping her knife against her knee.

Murphy’s face twisted into something that looked suspiciously like remorse, “Jaha and I were the only ones who made it to the island. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t sacrifice me on his mission along with everyone else.”

She frowned, “Why did you all go with him? Why did you keep following him?”

He barked out a laugh, “This may come as a surprise, but I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends back at the camp, and I wasn’t about to make any from your little pet clan of Grounders either.” There was a pause while he looked down at his hands. “I guess I just wanted to have a purpose for once, to be important,” The last part came through gritted teeth, as though it pained him to admit it out loud.

There was nothing she could say in reply to that, and a long, weighty silence stretched out between them.

Finally Clarke cleared her throat, “So you found a place where you could live in comfort away from everyone, a mansion filled with everything you could ever want. Why come back?”

“There’s a bomb,” Murphy swallowed hard, “A big one.”

And just like that she was back in the icy river, unable to catch her breath. “Wha--what do you mean?”

He scoffed and jumped to his feet, kicking up a cloud of dust, “Exactly what I said! There’s a B-O-M-B on that island; you know, the kind that goes boom and blacks out the sky and sends us all scurrying to our ships to wait it out for another century.” He ran his hands through his hair as he paced in front of her. “It’s happening all over again, except this time we’re stuck here.”

Worse than TonDC, a thousand times worse.

More screaming and toxic air and fire.

Even worse than that, more charred shadows and blank stares and devastating silence.

Clarke closed her eyes and tried to suck in air, fighting the wave of nausea accompanying the phantom smell of burning flesh. Spots danced across the backs of her eyelids as her center of gravity abruptly shifted. Hands grabbed her shoulders and she lurched away, shying from the contact. She could barely make out Murphy’s voice through the roaring in her ears.

“Hey, calm down Princess, I’m just trying to help!”

The knife handle dug into one palm while fingernails cut crescents into the other. The pain helped ground her. Her eyes flew open, aching from being squeezed so tightly shut. “Stop…calling me that,” she managed to gasp.

He stared at her like she was a puzzle he was trying to work out in his mind. She thought about asking him to give her a hint when he figured out where the pieces fit.

“Okay.” His simple acceptance was spoken without a hint of scorn or mocking.

Clarke was surprised and incredibly grateful he didn’t push the subject or ask any questions. The wave of dizziness passed as she began to breathe normally, and the tension keeping her a mess of broken lines and bent angles began to dissipate.

“Thank you,” she exhaled and straightened, trying to regain control over the situation. She crossed her arms in an attempt to hide her still shaking hands, “Who else knows about this?”

If Murphy noticed the slight quaver in her voice, he didn’t give any indication. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “As far as I know, just you, me, and Jaha; but Clarke, that doesn’t make us any safer.”

In the few months she’d known him, Clarke had never seen Murphy look genuinely worried; now, the fear practically rolled off of him.

His fear sharpened her own, and she could feel the wave of chaotic horror tugging at the corners of her mind, threatening to pull her back under.

She felt for the solidness of cool granite at her back, and leaned against the outcropping for support. “Would he use it?” It came out as barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” the reply wasn’t much louder than the question. “Jaha’s not…” hands made an indistinct motion through the air as he searched for the right word “…stable.”

“Okay,” Clarke spoke more to herself than her companion, mentally running through their short list of options. “Okay, we need to tell the others.”

“So they’re alive?” Murphy’s brow furrowed in confusion, “The camp is still standing?”

She nodded once, anxiety starting to build in her stomach over the thought of going back. “Not everyone made it,” faces flashed through her mind, staring at her accusingly, “But we made it through the war.” She couldn’t say ‘won’, because nothing about its conclusion had felt like a victory.

“When I ran into you out here, I’d just assumed…” he trailed off, that look that said she was an enigma back on his face; but he must have seen something in her expression, because once again, Murphy let his questions go unasked.

Maybe the trip through the desert had changed him; maybe he had learned the value of letting things lie.

Or maybe he had secrets of his own.

Clarke cleared her throat and set about packing everything they’d need, “We’d better get going; we’ve got a lot of ground to cover before the sun sets.”


	4. Smoke

It took longer to reach Camp Jaha than Clarke thought, mostly because Murphy was in rougher shape than he’d let on, and partially because her own trepidation kept her from pushing him any faster.

Keeping one eye on Murphy and another on the woods didn’t require enough effort to keep her mind from wandering; and because they had a lot of miles to cover, Clarke had a lot of time to think.

The closer they got, the more she wanted to turn and run. She was afraid of what they’d find when they finally passed through the gate. Murphy’s words had planted the seeds, and now a terrible notion was attempting to take root.

What if something had happened to the Ark’s survivors in the months since she’d left?

No, she couldn’t believe that everything they’d been through had been for nothing. They were alive; Bellamy would have made sure of it.

That Bellamy might not have survived was unthinkable.

But he might hate her; they all might, and there wasn’t the smallest measure of her that would blame them.

Nausea roiled in her stomach. How could she face them, after everything she’d done?

_There’s a bomb—the kind that blacks out the sky—happening all over again_

She didn’t have a choice.

“Hey Prin…”

The glare she directed over her shoulder earned her a sheepish grin.

“Right; uh, Clarke? Maybe we should stop for the night? I’m not overly fond of the idea of traipsing around the woods in the dark.”

She didn’t slow, continuing to push her way up the hill, “We’re not stopping.”

A frustrated sigh interrupted his labored breathing, “Great, can you at least give me a reason?”

Stopping so shortly he almost ran into her, Clarke gazed out over the valley, “Because we’re already here.”

The camp burned like a beacon in the encroaching darkness, and she wondered what the light signified. Was it a warm glow beckoning her weary soul home, or was it the piercing beam of a lighthouse, warning her away from the rocks that would cause her floundering ship to wreck?

Murphy looked as conflicted as she felt. He turned his head as if to say something—and an arrow whistled by, inches from his face.

“Get down!” Clarke yelled, launching herself behind a tree.

Her warning was unnecessary; Murphy hit the ground before she did.

“Grounders?” He hissed, the whites of his eyes shining in the waning light.

Lifting her head just enough to peer around the tree’s trunk, Clarke tried to make out any movement in the distance. She drew her knife slowly, drawing what comfort she could from its familiar weight.

Suddenly a clear voice rang out, “You have found Kamp kom Skaikru. Tell me your business here, or the next arrow will not miss.”

Clarke frowned; why was a Grounder guarding the camp? She motioned for Murphy to keep quiet. “We are friends of the Skaikru, and we come with a message for their leader,” she called back.

Finally she spotted movement, a lithe form separating seamlessly from the ambiguous shadows. The woman stepped out so she was partially illuminated by the distant firelight, but didn’t come any closer. Her bow was drawn, and while she was looking in Clarke’s direction, the arrow was pointed directly at Murphy. The message was clear.

“The Skaikru have few friends, fewer still who would choose to approach after sundown.”

Keeping her hands out in front, Clarke slowly rose from the ground, “I can assure you we mean them no harm.”

It was hard to gauge a reaction from that distance, but the arrow didn't waver. “Who are you?”

“She already told you who we are.” Apparently tired of being left out, Murphy got to his feet, “So if you’re planning on shooting us, just get it over with; if not, then maybe we should let the Sky People decide if they want to hear us.”

There was a long, tense moment where Clarke thought Murphy might end up a pincushion out of spite, but then the bow lowered. The woman put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

There was an answering whistle from somewhere to their left, and Clarke’s wary mind immediately feared an ambush. She had to force herself to remain still, though her feet shifted nervously. Less than a minute later, a grim-faced man with a guard patch gracing his coat sleeve crashed through the bushes, torch in hand. When he saw Clarke and Murphy, he pulled a gun.

“Echo, what’s going on?” He addressed the Grounder woman, “Who are these people?”

With the hillside now illuminated, Clarke could see the woman, Echo’s, eyes narrow, “You do not know them? They claim to be friends of your people.”

“Oh for--” Murphy threw his hands in the air, “This is ridiculous! We came down from the Ark, the same as you.” He jabbed a finger in the man’s direction.

After spending a moment studying the guard’s face, Clarke realized with a flash that she’d never seen him before in her life. “What station are you from?”

He hesitated, then apparently decided granting her with such a menial piece of information wouldn’t do any harm. “I’m from Mecha.”

Despite the situation, she felt a rush of excitement, “There were survivors from Mecha Station? How many?”

The guard eyed her curiously, “You’re from Alpha?”

“Yes,” she answered simply, grateful for the easy out. The knowledge that she had been sent down to the ground as a criminal probably wouldn’t help her in this situation. If he didn’t know who she was, she wasn’t about to enlighten him, not until she was safely within the walls.

His expression went flat, “Then I believe the Chancellor would be very interested to see you.” He beckoned Murphy over, “Both of you, in front of me. We will escort you into camp.”

Clarke should have felt relief, but the guard’s reaction hadn’t made any sense. The fact that there were two armed people she had to turn her back to made her instincts scream in protest.

Murphy fell into step next to her as they moved out, “What was that about?” He whispered.

She shook her head infinitesimally, “I don’t know, but keep your guard up. Something isn’t right.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh and she shot him a look, “What, exactly, is so humorous?”

Murphy graced her with his trademark smirk, “I just never thought I’d see the day when we were actually working together, that’s all.”

Glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder, Clarke replied, “Better the devil you know.”

Face morphing into a look of mock dismay, he clutched at his chest. “Ouch, Griffin! That one hurt.” He slid closer, all traces of humor suddenly gone, “So do we have an actual plan once we get inside?”

“Find Kane as quickly as possible, before too many other people get involved; he’ll have the clearest head and won’t…ask questions.”

Murphy nodded once, “And if things don’t go the way we want?”

Clarke grimaced, hating the possibility their mission could turn even more complicated. “We stick together and make it up as we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I dropped off the face of the Earth there for a while; I moved and didn't have Internet for about a month. it was horrible, as you can probably imagine. Anyway, here's to more regular updates!


	5. Flicker

Camp Jaha’s walls had grown taller, and the parts that weren’t electrified had gained some intimidating hardware. There were platforms with sentries posted at regular intervals, and Clarke could see their shadowed forms burst into motion as her party approached.

With a sinking feeling, she realized the window for a quick and quiet approach was rapidly shrinking, if it wasn’t gone already.

There are two more men standing guard at the gate, tactical vests strapped to their chests and automatic weapons cradled in their arms.

Clarke didn’t recognize either one of them, but their grim expressions mirrored those of her escorts, so she highly doubted they’d be any more forthcoming with information.

“Great welcoming party,” Murphy muttered under his breath.

The taller of the two guards, a man with close cropped, graying hair and a crooked nose, jutted his chin in their direction, “Where’d you find these two, Herrera?”

“I found them, Inspector Meyers,” Echo stepped forward smoothly, “trying to pass through our line.”

The shorter guard, freshly promoted from cadet by the looks of him, looked vaguely uncomfortable, while the Inspector himself pursed his lips.

Apparently some in the ranks had a few qualms about working side by side with the Grounder woman. Clarke filed that away for later.

Their Mecha station attendant, Herrera, didn’t seem to have the same compunction as his colleagues, however. “Echo held them until I got there.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “They claim to be from the Ark; Alpha Station.”

The Inspector and ex-cadet shared a look laden with understanding, and Clarke once again had the disconcerting notion that she was missing something important. She felt the situation slipping further out of her control and the urge to run returned with a vengeance. Taking a deep breath, she stood her ground, although she felt ready to come apart at the seams. “We need to get inside!” That had come out more forcefully than she would have liked, and four pairs of wary eyes quickly made her the center of attention.

Murphy briefly scrunched his eyebrows in confusion before launching into a plausible explanation for her abrupt outburst, “We have important intel that needs to be relayed to the people in charge.”

He fixed her with a stare that clearly read, _Keep it together_.

Clarke wiped her suddenly damp palms on her pants and tried to sound authoritative, “As soon as possible.”

Meyers exhaled slowly, “Well, don’t let us stand in your way,” he nodded to Herrera, “Make sure they reach the Chancellor.”

With her options waning, Clarke decided to lay all of her cards on the table, “We were actually hoping to meet with Marcus Kane.”

The Inspector turned to the post and rapped out a rhythm with his knuckles, “Kane isn’t here.”

She barely had time to process his reply before the gates swung open and her heart stuttered in her chest.

The people of the Ark had come out in force.

There must have been over a hundred of them. So many faces—too many; her vision swam and everything blurred together. She was glad for the disorientation; meeting someone’s eyes might have broken her. Fleeing, if it had ever really been an option, wasn’t a possibility anymore.

She was trapped.

Murphy whistled, “Now this is a welcoming party.”

Solid warmth suddenly enveloped her, and in her panicked state, Clarke tried to pull away. The arms holding her hostage only tightened in response. “I can’t believe you’re here. I saw you from the wall and I just…” It was Monty. The brilliant, kind boy whose innocence she’d destroyed was hugging her.

Choking back a sob, she returned the gesture with a ferocity that surprised her. She’d forgotten how much comfort could be derived from something so simple as contact with another human being.

Someone cleared their throat and Clarke reluctantly pulled back, hurriedly swiping at her eyes to erase any sign of moisture.

Monty kept one hand on her arm, as if he was afraid she would disappear if he let go, “We really missed you.”

“Hey, don’t I get a hug?” Murphy asked sarcastically, “Didn’t anyone miss me?”

To his credit, Monty didn’t rise to the bait; he leaned in close and lowered his voice, “Clarke, things have changed—“

And whatever else the young engineer might have said was lost, because there, hovering at the edge of the crowd, she saw _him_. His hair was shorter, his skin darker, and the lines of him too rigid, as if the lightest touch would shatter him like glass.

He looked like he’d seen a ghost, and maybe he had. They had more than enough ghosts between them.

Her eyes caught and held his, and it was like lightning striking. Every cell in her body quavered with energy, and she ached down to the very marrow in her bones to close the distance between them.

But her mind paralyzed her feet, and they stayed rooted fast to the ground.

“Bellamy…” His name fell like a half-whispered prayer.

A large shape suddenly moved in front of her, blocking her line of sight, and Clarke was left feeling utterly bereft.

“Let’s keep moving,” Herrera had forced Monty out of the way, and this time Clarke did recoil at the intrusion into her personal space, only to bump into someone behind her.

Echo’s visage had turned to ice, and she looked down at Clarke with thinly veiled disdain. She didn’t say anything, but her body language suggested that if Clarke didn’t do as the guard suggested, she would be more than happy to provide some corporal persuasion.

“Right,” Murphy tugged at Clarke’s sleeve, none-too-subtly pulling her away from the Grounder woman, “Let’s do what we came here to do.”

“Okay,” Clarke breathed, “Okay.” She followed them robotically, a whirlwind of emotions making it hard to regain the singlemindedness she’d possessed earlier. She’d been a fool for thinking any of this could be simple.

When she looked back, Bellamy was gone.


	6. Tinder

The man sitting at her mother’s desk had dark blonde hair, incisive hazel eyes set in a rounded face that made him look younger than he probably was, and an easy grin that practically begged Clarke to trust him.

She didn’t.

Bestowing her confidence on others was something she had learned not to rush into; Lexa had been an excellent teacher.

“Ah, so it is true!” The man stood, his lanky form instantly dwarfing her, and came out from behind the table. He held out his hand, which she hesitantly shook. “I’m Councilman August Pierce of Mecha Station, and you must be Clarke Griffin.”

Next to her, Herrera stiffened and his eyes widened in surprise. Echo’s vitriolic expression remained unchanged, and Clarke wondered how the other woman had known who she was.

Pierce seemed amused by the guard’s reaction, “Oh come now, Herrera, how could you not guess? Who else would have caused such a stir by simply walking into camp? From the moment we stepped foot within these walls we’ve been regaled by tales of the girl who brought down the mountain and then vanished into thin air,” he winked at Clarke, “You’re quite the legend.”

Her stomach churned in response.

“As for your companion, I’m having a harder time placing him,” he turned to Murphy, who was staring at Clarke as if he was starting to put the pieces together, “I’m very sorry, young man, but you’ll have to tell me your name.”

“John Murphy,” He ignored Pierce’s extended hand.

Appearing to take the slight in stride, the councilman clapped his hands, “Of course! Rumor has it you left with Thelonious Jaha; how is the old man?”

Clarke crossed her arms, “Where is my mother?”

That rattled him slightly. She got the feeling Pierce had set the stage and she wasn’t playing her part. His smile froze awkwardly on his face, and his answering laugh sounded forced, “No time for pleasantries, I see. That’s quite all right.” 

He straightened and clasped his hands together, “You’ll have to forgive me; I’m used to asking the questions around here.”

It almost sounded like a warning.

Mirroring his pose, Clarke decided to test the waters, “I understand Councilman, but Murphy and I have information vital to the safety of our people, and we’d like to discuss it with the Chancellor as soon as possible.”

Herrera cleared his throat, “Sir, at the gate she explicitly stated they wished to meet with Marcus Kane rather than the Chancellor.”

Inwardly, Clarke cursed the man for upsetting the balance of power. It was a game of chess and the guard had just forced her to move her bishop back a space; not a move that would necessarily lose her a piece, but one that took away her initiative.

Pierce raised an eyebrow and scrutinized her for a long moment. Clarke felt uncomfortably like a specimen under a microscope. Finally he sighed and ran his fingers over the surface of the desk, “Abby Griffin left over a month ago for Polis, and Kane went with her.”

The churning in her stomach had turned into a veritable maelstrom.

“So you took charge.” Murphy didn’t phrase it like a question.

“I was put in charge,” the easy grin was back, accompanied by a distinct gleam in his eye, as though Pierce was delighted to be able to disprove Murphy’s supposition. “When I and the other survivors of Mecha Station made it to this camp, Chancellor Griffin decided we needed representation and appointed me to the Council she’d formed. When she left, the other Councilman elected me Interim Chancellor.”

Clarke shook her head, “Why would she go to Polis?”

Surprisingly, the answer came from Echo, who had been standing as silent and still as a statue, “The Kongeda asked for you, the Wanheda, to discuss a pact,” her cold eyes almost looked accusatory, “You were not here.”

The words were like a blow to the chest, but Clarke didn’t need to hear that kind of censure from a woman who didn’t even know her.

“I am perfectly aware of where I have and haven't been,” If the other woman’s tone had been frigid, Clarke’s was downright glacial, “If an agreement hasn’t been reached, then why would a Grounder be working with the people of the Ark?”

“Echo and a few of her clan are here as envoys,” Pierce broke in, regaining control of the conversation’s direction. “They are part of my own attempts to help repair the relationship between the Ark and the Grounders.”

Tapping his watch pointedly, his gaze slid between them, “And while I’d love to go into detail about that, or maybe get to the root of all this latent hostility, I am a very busy man and I believe you have something important to tell me?”

His casual dismissal made Clarke bristle, but when Murphy’s eyes asked for her consent, she nodded in response. Whatever other concerns she had, they were going to need the Ark’s help to secure the bomb, and at this point it was too late to enlist support quietly.

If they didn’t want serious trouble, they would have to involve the interim Chancellor.

This version of events Murphy gave was abridged, filled with clipped words and hesitations as though he was unsure how much he should share with his latest audience.  
He took a deep breath before delivering the crux of his message, “There’s a nuclear bomb.”

Having heard the words before did nothing to dull the fear Clarke felt at hearing them again.

Echo looked bewildered, Herrera appalled, and Pierce utterly absorbed.

“And you’ve told no one else?” The councilman inquired, brows furrowed in thought.

Murphy shrugged, “Only Clarke.”

Nothing was said to support her notion, but Clarke had a feeling Pierce considered her one person too many; whether that was because she was the person in question, or because he wanted to limit the spread of information she couldn’t begin to guess.

He turned to Echo, whose reaction to the news seemed to please him. “Am I correct in assuming your people don’t know about this device?”

“There are those who know the way to the City of Light, but I have not heard of this kind of bomb; there has been no talk of this sort of thing amongst the clans.” She was trying to look unaffected, but Clarke could see the uncertainty and concern hidden behind her façade.

She could certainly empathize.

Pierce rose slowly, his mouth set in a determined line, “Good, let’s keep it that way; this is not a weapon that should ever become common knowledge again. We will deal with it quickly and quietly before it’s discovered by someone else.”

Mildly surprised that his thinking mirrored hers, Clarke nodded in agreement, “A small tactical team would be able to move quickly: engineers, mechanics, and security to accompany them.” 

The room was silent, and Clarke realized she’d unintentionally shifted back into the role she’d left behind months before.

“I suppose you have some idea of who you think should be one this team?” Pierce’s face was blank, his tone neutral.

She wasn’t sure which answer he was looking for, but she figured it would be better to tread carefully, “I have some suggestions, if you’d like to hear them.”

The Councilman smiled broadly, “Of course! You know these people better than I do. Why don’t we get you something to eat and then we can plan our next step. I’m sure you and John must be hungry.”

Clarke released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, but the next one caught in her chest at Pierce’s next words.

“We’ll have to get you set up with a place to stay for the night, and supplies to take with you when you leave. If you want to make it to the City of Light, you’ll need better clothes than what you’re wearing.”

He must have noticed her hesitation, “You are planning on joining the team, aren’t you?”

It was strange, but she hadn’t thought beyond her original objective. Her mission had been straightforward: get to the camp and warn someone. It had to be, because thinking about what would happen after that would have made it that much harder to step through the gates.

With his lips tight and his eyes wide, Murphy’s face was the picture of suspense. He would have to lead the team to the bomb, and he was worried she would leave him to do it alone.

Another face flashed in her mind, one adorned with freckles and pleading dark eyes. The irony of it all made her want to laugh and cry simultaneously.

She met Murphy’s desperate gaze, “I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously at this point, this story is going to be AU; I realize things has been progressing slowly, but fear not! The main cast of characters will show up in the next chapter.


	7. Tinder II

By the time Clarke left the Chancellor’s office, the camp had quieted considerably. Even with the excitement caused by their arrival, it was late enough that almost most people had retired for the night. She breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that she could avoid the discomfort of being a spectacle again until morning, thankful that she wouldn’t have to try to work out where she fit into the lives of those she’d left behi—

“You mind telling me what’s going on?” Apparently Raven Reyes was not most people.

The young mechanic was leaning almost lazily against a stack of boxes just outside the glow from the firelight.

“Um…” Stunned as she was by the other girl’s presence and seemingly nonchalant attitude, Clarke couldn’t formulate an intelligent reply.

Raven rolled her eyes, “Come on Griffin, I know I’m gorgeous but stop gawking and get your head in the game. I received a message earlier telling me I have to get up at a stupidly early hour to, and I quote, ‘assist in the investigation of technology deemed potentially hazardous to the people of the Ark.’ First of all that sounds awfully pretentious, but I’m going to let that slide in favor of the second issue, which is that it sounds purposefully vague.”

There were no words Clarke could have used to describe how grateful she was in that moment for the girl across from her, the girl who was letting her know nothing had changed between them in spite of what had happened at Mount Weather, in spite of what had happened after it fell.

She swallowed hard and tried to speak around the lump that had formed in her throat, “You’re right, it was purposefully vague; that was Pierce’s idea, not mine.” She managed a wry smile, “Including you in all this, however, was completely my idea. You can thank me later.”

An eyebrow rose in response, “What did you drag me into this time?”

“There’s a nuclear warhead in the City of Light, and we’re going to shut it down.”

Raven let out a low whistle, “I knew it had to be bad if you came back here with Murphy. Where is that little weasel anyway?”

Clarke tiredly ran a hand over her face, “Asleep, I hope. He left the meeting early, said he didn’t care who went with him tomorrow as long as they knew what they were doing.” She pursed her lips, “We need him, Raven. He’s the only one who can get us to the bomb.”

Waving her concerns away, the mechanic pushed herself upright, “Don’t sweat it, I won’t cause any trouble if he won’t.” She limped over and threw a glance back toward the Council Hall, “Besides, Murphy’s the least of my worries.”

That instinctual wariness that had been her constant companion the last few months made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and Clarke suddenly felt very exposed. She actively avoided following Raven’s gaze and stared straight ahead, reminding herself that any predators here would be more likely to feel challenged than intimidated by eye contact.

Guiding Raven by the arm, Clarke started walking down the path to her tent. “What, exactly, has been going on around here? I hardly recognize this place,” her voice was barely a whisper, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“I know what you mean,” Raven responded, voice equally low, “There’s nothing I can put my finger on exactly, nothing concrete…except for the Grounders of course.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste, “I don’t trust them, and it’s not just because of what happened at Mount Weather. Since Pierce brought them here, I don’t trust him either.”

Equal parts relieved and troubled that Raven shared her apprehension, Clarke found it frustrating that there wasn’t anything more to go on. She was groping blindly in the dark, unable to see the whole picture, and increasingly sure that picture wasn’t a pretty one.

The cocktail of emotions was exhausting.

She stopped front of the tent she’d been assigned for the night with a sigh. “I don’t like it, but we don’t have a lot of options. For now we have to focus on the threat we know, because if that bomb goes off, nothing else will matter,” she gave Raven’s hand a squeeze, “But keep your eyes and ears open. You’re not just going tomorrow because you’re talented; you’re going because you’re one of the few people I trust completely.”

Raven squeezed back, “I’m glad you’re back.” She turned back up the path, “Get some sleep, Griffin; you’ll definitely need it. I’m going to go tell Wick I’ve been summoned for a very important mission that doesn’t require his sub-par engineering skills.”

Clarke felt her lips quirk, almost as if a real smile was forming on her face. “Actually, he’s coming too.”

“Oh great!” Raven threw her hands up in the air in mock exasperation. “As if dismantling a nuclear weapon wasn’t daunting enough, I’ll have to do it with his obnoxious voice in my ear the whole time!”

 

* * *

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Clarke didn’t sleep, at least not well. Her dreams were always vivid and terrible, but her subconscious mind had created something extra special for her the night before. She’d been walking away from the gate on that paradoxically beautiful afternoon, Bellamy’s soft plea playing over in her head. Glancing back one last time, she was searching for his form when a massive explosion blew the camp apart. She’d fallen to her knees in shock, mouth open in a silent scream…and suddenly Octavia was there in front of her, half her face burned away, her brother’s broken body in her arms. “How could you?” the girl rasped, blood bubbling at her lips, “How could you do this again?” Shaking her head in horror, Clarke passionately denied it “No, it wasn’t—“ and then she’d glanced down to find she was standing in front of a console with her hand on a lever.

That was when she’d woken up, soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that nightmare had been about.

A quick glance outside told her it was misting lightly, the air just wet enough to soak through clothing and leave everyone miserable. Perfect; at least today the weather suited the occasion and her mood.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and a shadow paused in front of her tent, “Clarke?”

“Yeah Murphy,” she quickly pulled her hair out of her face and pinned it back, a familiar motion meant to make her feel in control, “Come in.”

Ducking through the opening, he grinned sheepishly and dropped a backpack at her feet. “I uh, brought you some supplies. I know it doesn’t make up for anything, and really, I didn’t actually do you a favor since this stuff would have been waiting for you at the gate anyway, so now you’ll just have to carry it back…” Murphy trailed off, as if suddenly aware he was rambling. Scratching his head nervously, he stared down at his feet as if the words he was actually looking for were written on his shoes.

Clarke decided to take pity on him, “Thank you.”

His lips quirked and he finally looked at her, “That was supposed to be my line. You just had to go and steal my thunder.”

Slinging the backpack over one shoulder, Clarke retorted, “Well if I’d waited for you to say it first, we’d be standing here until someone decided to detonate that bomb.”

The mood instantly shifted at her sobering reminder of the task they had in front of them.

“Right,” Murphy huffed out a breath, “Well I guess if the fate of the world is at stake we should probably get a move on.”

They started the trek to the main gate in silence, each lost in their thoughts. In the light of morning, no matter how pale and dim that light, Clarke could no longer hide from view. Stares and whispers clung to her as closely as a shadow.

“Did you hear they’re calling this place Arkadia now?” Murphy’s voice, so much closer than the others, made her jump, “I like it; it makes this place seem more permanent, you know? Plus, Jaha’s not the Chancellor anymore, and he didn’t really sacrifice himself to save everyone, so he really hasn’t done anything to deserve having a whole camp named after him.”

He was rambling again, but this time he was doing it for her. Murphy knew how heavy a weight unwanted attention could be, and he was trying to lighten the burden the only way he knew how: by distracting her. Touched by the gesture, Clarke wondered if they were actually becoming friends.

Wrapping her coat more tightly around her body, she shrugged, “And if it turns out he’s crazy enough to irradiate the Earth again, it would be in poor taste to have his name on one of the signs when the survivors find it in the future.”

She was only half joking, but Murphy barked out a laugh, “A very valid point.”

The main gate came into view then, and any thoughts she might have entertained about getting through the journey emotionally unscathed suddenly evaporated.

_No no no no no_

Pierce had said he’d be sending along soldiers to protect the group but she never imagined…how could she not have even entertained the thought that they…

Murphy followed her line of sight, “Oh yes, the always fascinating Blake siblings. The Councilman must have thought we needed more mental issues than we have between the two of us on this trip.” He tried for a smile but it fell flat when he noticed her frozen expression, “Whoa Griffin, what gives? I thought you guys were all part of some sort of ‘Heroes of the Earth’ club or something.”

That broke her out of her trance. “I’m not a hero,” she snapped, briefly closing her eyes against the onslaught of emotions, “I don’t know what I am to them anymore.”

It was then that Bellamy noticed them, or more accurately, noticed her. He’d obviously had time to come to terms with her sudden return, because he no longer bore the look of the mortally wounded. The raw intensity that had clung to him the night before was being held in check…barely.

Turning to see what had captured her brother’s attention, Octavia’s body went rigid. She leaned in and spoke a few words in Bellamy’s ear, nodded tightly in their direction, then stalked off.

Clarke felt herself moving forward, pulled toward the boy ( _man_ , her mind whispered forcefully) she’d left standing in the sunlight all those weeks before. It seemed like it had happened years ago, but the memory was so strong it could have been yesterday. He was familiar, trusted, and her body responded to that knowledge before her brain could intervene.

“Princess.” His voice was strained and colored by a cacophony of feelings that was painful to hear. She allowed him the name; it had always belonged to him anyway.

“Bellamy.” After spending so much time suppressing the very thought of it, his name fell easily from her lips. But uttering those three syllables, standing in front of him, had the very effect Clarke had been so afraid of during her months alone. Sorrow and regret welled in her chest, and she wanted so badly to pull him close. It was something like muscle memory; her arms could still feel the solid weight of him, her lips the warmth of his face. She wanted tell him how thinking of him and what she’d put him through had been agony. She wanted to ask how he’d been and if she’d destroyed him like everything else she touched. More than anything, she wanted to tell him just how much she’d missed him, how it felt like losing a limb and how the phantom pain made her relive it over and over again.

Instead they stood less than a meter apart in silence, each taut as a bowstring, the tension filling the space between them seemingly an unbreakable barrier.

Clarke didn’t summon her courage in enough time to try; it was Murphy who broke the standoff. Murphy, who she’d completely forgotten about and who was able to get close enough to stand in her personal space without attracting her attention because it had been completely focused elsewhere. He was lucky she was operating on more than pure instinct; otherwise he might have ended up with a stab wound for his troubles.

“I’m sorry to intrude on your reunion,” and was it her imagination, or did he actually sound remorseful? “But that Grounder who threatened to shoot us last night is on her way over here.”

That was enough to put Clarke back on guard; the walls went back up and anything that might make her appear vulnerable was hurriedly shoved behind them. Mask firmly in place, she glanced back to see Echo approaching the gate, along with someone she almost didn’t recognize.

“Harper?”

The formerly timid girl was decked out in a guard’s uniform and had a pistol strapped to her thigh. She smiled broadly, “It’s good to see you, Clarke, in spite of the circumstances.”

Echo’s mouth formed a thin line, “We should leave now; with this weather the light will not hold long into the evening.” Strapping her bow to her back, she moved to Bellamy’s side.

Whether he hadn’t noticed the Grounder’s reaction to Clarke, or was choosing to ignore it, Bellamy simply nodded in agreement with her statement, “Echo is right, we need to get moving if we hope to cover any real ground before we have to camp for the night.”

The sight of the two of them standing united and at ease with each other made Clarke’s chest tighten.

A clattering noise cut through the air followed by a muffled curse, and then Raven came around a tent corner, Wick in tow. They were carrying a massive amount of equipment between them; and though it was clear Raven had the lighter load, she was still carrying more than she should.

Radiating disapproval, Clarke rushed to help, idly noting that Bellamy and Harper weren’t far behind. She hoisted a roll of wire and a bag of tools over one shoulder and shook her head, “Raven…”

“I tried that already,” Wick snorted, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice, “Told her we should wait for help and everything. The most I could get her to agree to was giving me the heavier things. It’s hard to win an argument with someone when they stomp out the door.”

Raven cast her eyes skyward, as if beseeching the heavens for assistance, “Cut me some slack, will you? You guys are such mother hens.” She flashed her teeth and shoved an armful of odds and ends into Bellamy’s chest, “I knew I just had to make it to the gate and then Blake here would be my beast of burden.”

“Charming as usual, Reyes,” Bellamy grumbled, depositing the equipment into his pack.

She laughed, “Easy Tiger, Wick might think you’re into me, and I’d hate to see him get hurt when he inevitably fights you for my affections.”

“Hey,” Wick protested, rolling his shoulders, “I’m standing right here; the least you could do is pretend I’m masculine enough to win a fight.”

Listening to their easy banter filled Clarke with a wistful longing. Once, she would have been able to join in; but now she felt awkward and unsure if she would even know what to say. She was even less sure that her contribution would be wanted. She lagged behind under the pretense of adjusting the straps on her pack, and watched them walk ahead with a heaviness that had nothing to do with what she was physically carrying.

_You have nobody to blame but yourself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it only took, what, six chapters to get the gang back together? Sorry for the wait! Hopefully this chapter makes up for it a little.


	8. Flame

Ten of them set out that morning; ten people in a race against time, hoping to stop a repeat of their progenitors’ mistakes.

Herrera had come along, something that didn’t surprise Clarke in the slightest. He had been standing next to Echo when Murphy told his story, and it seemed Pierce didn’t want that information spreading, ostensibly to keep panic from spreading (something she happened to agree with). His strategy to keep that from happening seemed to involve sending everyone who knew about the bomb out of Arkadia.

The last person to join met them a mile outside of the camp wearing an amalgamation of Grounder and Ark issued clothing. Octavia let out an excited whoop and threw herself into his arms, Bellamy clapped him on the back, and Clarke stood back and braced herself for more antagonism. Lincoln had every right to be angry, after all. If Octavia hadn’t forgiven her, how could the man who loved her?

It came as a complete shock then, when he inclined his head in her direction and gently spoke, “Mounin hou.”

Octavia hadn’t been pleased, but she also hadn’t been surprised. Clarke wondered if they had fought over her, and couldn’t fathom what reason Lincoln would have to come to her defense. It was just one more pebble added to the mountain of guilt she was already stumbling under.

Everyone was more than a little on edge, to say the least. There was so much that wasn’t being said, too many raw emotions simmering just beneath the surface. Clarke just hoped they could somehow complete their mission before it all boiled over.

Once they were on their way, Murphy gave an explanation of what they could expect to find when they found Jaha. The message Pierce had sent to Raven had been sent to everyone, but no one else had come to Clarke in the middle of the night looking for answers. It quickly became clear that neither Herrera (probably because he was loyal to the Interim Chancellor), or Echo (probably because she didn’t realize what it was they were up against) had spoken to the remaining members of their party about what kind of ‘potentially hazardous technology’ they would be dealing with. It was hard to watch their reactions when reality set in. 

Those who had grown up on the Ark had an intimate knowledge of what nuclear weapons could do. They had seen images of the unbridled power released by a detonation, but it was the aftermath—what came months or even years later—that was worse. Their fear came from a lifetime of breathing the consequences of a war fought a century before.

Those who were born on the ground couldn’t understand, not really, but they knew enough. Clarke told Echo and Lincoln that such weapons had permanently changed the Earth, but explanations paled in comparison to the message they could find written on their companions’ faces.

But whether raised in the sky or on the ground, every one of them was a survivor, and it didn’t take long for fear to harden into resolve.

Once the details were revealed, the charged silence they had been traveling under was broken, and Murphy was practically interrogated. Clarke would have found it tragic that the only safe topic of conversation involved a possible madman and a weapon that could blot out the sun, but she was just thankful the focus had shifted away from the brewing emotional storm that had been hovering over them…for the time being.

“So, the City of Light is just a collection of old solar panels?” Wick scrunched his nose, “What a letdown.”

Raven poked him in the ribs, “Excuse me, but even you should be able to recognize how valuable that kind of technology would be.”

Pausing to take a swig of water, Murphy shrugged, “We ran into some Grounders who pointed us in that direction. I don’t know what else they could have been talking about. The only building for miles is the mansion that Jaha’s holed up in."

Echo frowned, “From childhood I have heard that the City of Light was a beautiful haven where there was rest for the weary and healing for any sickness.”

“So many of the things we were taught as children were not true,” Lincoln said grimly, “Perhaps our people were mistaken about this as well.”

The response he got was a glare full of daggers, but Echo managed to hold her tongue.

“Well, it was pretty in its own way,” Murphy offered helpfully.

Familiar as she was with their respective clans’ bloody past, Clarke was curious to what extent their history influenced the two Grounders’ interactions. Some of that curiosity must have shown on her face, because Harper leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “They don’t agree on much.”

“I can’t say I blame Lincoln,” Clarke replied, pushing a damp tendril of hair that had worked its way loose out of her face, “It doesn’t seem like there are many people Echo is friendly toward.”

Harper huffed out a dry laugh, “You can say that again. She seems to get along with Bellamy pretty well though.”

Clarke didn’t know how to respond to that, but the unpleasant sensation of a hand reaching into her chest and squeezing her heart returned in force. She decided to change the subject, “What made you decide to join the guard?”

A shadow passed over Harper’s face, “Mount Weather.”

There was a long enough pause that Clarke thought she wasn’t going to elaborate, but then the other girl shook her head and continued, “They strapped me down and drilled holes into my bones, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.” She bit her lip and ran her fingers over the holster on her thigh, “I’d never had proper training, you know? I don’t ever want to feel that powerless again, and I want to be able to keep the people I care about from ever having to experience something like that.”

Clarke tried to come up with something comforting to say, but the words turned to ashes in her mouth, ashes like the ones she’d left in her wake ever since she’d stepped foot on the ground.

“I understand,” she replied simply. It was the best she could do.

Luckily Harper didn’t seem to need anything else. Her face suddenly brightened again, “Plus, I’m apparently a bit of a crack shot, and Lincoln says I’m a natural when it comes to close quarters combat, so if I hadn’t joined the guard I’d be depriving them of my abilities.” She grinned slyly, “They’re lucky to have me.”

Filled with a fierce pride in the former delinquent who’d come so far and endured so much, Clarke nodded, “Yes they are.”

The terrain became rougher, and the rain began to fall more steadily, and whatever energy might have been given to conversation was used to keep pushing through at a reasonable pace.

The silence was at least bearable this time around.

It wasn’t long before Clarke felt exhaustion tugging at her limbs. The light hadn’t even started to fade, and she guessed it would still be another couple of hours before they stopped to make camp for the night. She refused to ask for a break. After all, Raven had a damaged leg and she was still going strong, so Clarke had no excuse. Well, no excuse beyond weeks of sleep deprivation and scraping together whatever it took for her to stay alive; but leaving had been her choice, and she wasn’t about to divulge any information that would bring that subject to everyone’s attention. Instead she cursed her body’s failings and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest decision. She stumbled, which wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if she hadn’t been walking along a narrow ledge carved into a hillside. If her reflexes had been working properly, she might have been able to right herself before it turned into a disaster, but her tired mind barely registered her predicament before she lurched closer to the edge—and then there was the awful sensation of having her feet on the ground, and nothing but air under the rest of her.

Someone screamed—it might have been her—and Clarke reached out desperately for anything, anything at all to stop her from plummeting to her death. Her hands brushed something solid, and a sharp pain shot through her shoulders as her body’s motion was abruptly halted by a vice-like grip on her arms.

Of course it was Bellamy who saved her, because the universe apparently had a twisted sense of humor and an inability to come up with new plot-lines.

He pulled her as far from the edge as he could get and raised a shaky hand to her face. “Are you okay?” He asked, eyes blown wide with fear.

The adrenaline still coursing through her system made her legs unsteady, and she fought the urge to cling to him. Clarke took a deep shuddering breath to try to slow her racing heart and nodded, unable to speak.

“What happened?” Echo demanded harshly, Herrera right on her heels.

Bellamy dropped his hand as if he’d been burned and backed away from Clarke like she had the plague.

It hurt, deeper and sharper than the pain in her arms. She thought she’d prepared her heart for however he felt toward her, but she’d been a fool to think there was any way to prepare for the look on his face as he’d recoiled from her. It was a bitter reality to face.

He’d saved her because he wasn’t a monster; and maybe for that brief moment when he’d touched her so gently he’d forgotten that she was.

Then he’d remembered the truth.

Clarke blinked rapidly to clear the sudden burning in her eyes and mumbled something about slipping, which Echo didn’t seem particularly impressed by. She became aware that everyone else had crowded in closely, filling the space Bellamy had vacated. Concerned faces pressed in around her, and it was suddenly all too much. Her jaw clenched and her hands fisted in her hair as she tried to ground herself, to keep from shattering at the thousand seams where her cuts had been administered.

Raven shoved everyone aside and motioned up the hill, “Hey, clearly this isn’t the safest place, so maybe we should get out of here before something else goes wrong.” She waited for the others to take the hint, then grabbed onto Clarke’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Stay with me, Griffin; this isn’t where you want to lose it.”

The contact was enough to ground her. Clarke focused on the firmness of the rock at her back and the ground under her feet, and released a breath that didn’t come out as a choked sob or a scream, either of which would have been a real possibility moments before.

“I’m with you, Raven.”

“Good, because there’s no way I could carry you up this hill.” The mechanic smiled sadly, “You’ll pull through this.”

Clarke stared at Bellamy’s back as he moved farther away from her, “I wish I was as sure of that as you.”


	9. Fuel

They set up camp as soon as they reached the top of the ridge; and even though they’d stopped with pale sunlight still filtering through the clouds, Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to feel remorse for being the cause. She was bone weary and heartsick, and the combination didn’t leave much room for anything else.

Herrera started a fire, which prompted Octavia to direct a snide remark to Clarke about not falling in before she stalked off into the surrounding woods with Harper to scout the area. Raven gave her a sympathetic look before joining Wick where he was checking on their equipment at the far side of the clearing.

With a heavy sigh, Clarke set about unpacking the things she would need for the night. She was just pulling out her bedroll, aching muscles screaming in protest, when Murphy tossed his bag on the ground next to her.

“Is this spot taken?”

Waving absently, she responded flatly, “It’s all yours.”

He eyed her with thinly veiled concern, “Are you okay?”

The absurdity of the question almost made Clarke laugh. Of course she wasn’t okay; she wasn’t sure she ever would be again. But Murphy couldn’t have known what he was asking; he hadn’t been there when Finn’s blood coated her hands, when she had walked through the village she’d let burn, or when a simple pull of a lever had destroyed more lives than just the ones taken.

“Are any of us?” It was as close to the truth as she was willing to get.

His lips pulled into a rueful smile, “Fair point, but you’re the one who almost fell off a cliff earlier. You look terrible, Griffin.”

She snorted, “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

“You know me, I always aim to please.” Murphy rubbed his neck and gazed at a point in the distance, “Look, I don’t know the specifics of what happened after I left, but I know it wasn’t good.” He turned his focus back to her, as serious as she’d ever seen him, “Don’t let it destroy you.”

The guilt clawed at her throat like a living thing, and Clarke had to fight it back a breath at a time.

“I’m trying,” she replied softly.

A shout cut across the camp, “Hey, Murphy!” It was Wick, who waved him over when he noticed he had their attention. Waving back, Murphy muttered something about being popular, gave Clarke a nod heavy with meaning and moved away, leaving her to try to piece together exactly what had just happened.

If someone had told her three months ago that a time would come when she was the broken mess and Murphy was the one offering her guidance, she would have examined that person for a head injury.

War, as it turned out, made the seemingly impossible a reality.

The exhaustion she’d been fighting suddenly overwhelmed her, and Clarke sagged against her belongings, deciding it couldn’t hurt to close her eyes for a brief moment.

When she awoke, heart trying to escape her chest, she was curled up on her bedroll and the sky had turned black. The fire was burning lower, but it cast enough of a glow for her to immediately become aware of a figure seated close by. Her hand was reaching for her knife when she realized it was Lincoln, and the memory of where she was came flooding back.

“Bad dreams?” He raised an eyebrow.

She was pretty sure the question was rhetorical, “How did I...” she gestured to the blankets tucked under her legs.

“Bellamy.” Lincoln raised his eyes to where his still form was lying, an arm’s length from the sister he’d given everything for. “He said you would have a hard time moving tomorrow if you stayed the way you were.”

After her display earlier he was probably concerned, and rightfully so, about her slowing their progress.

“He shouldn’t have bothered,” Clarke whispered, feeling guilty about deriving comfort from the simple rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

“You love him.” Lincoln said it so matter-of-factly, like it was such a foregone conclusion that the instant denial she had waiting on the tip of her tongue died before it could pass her lips.

Turning her gaze to the dying fire, she tried to work through the tangled mess of her thoughts. One thread pulled free from the rest, a truth that made her feel hollow. “I’m not sure I even know what love is anymore.”

“You gave up everything to rescue your people. You were willing to give up the people you care about most. You gave up your soul.” His voice was filled with conviction, commanding her to believe his words. “You, Clarke of the Sky People, have a better knowledge of love than most could learn in ten lifetimes.”

Moisture welled in her eyes, and this time, she was powerless to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever we had, whatever we were is broken.”

“So fix it.” His response was immediate, like what he suggested was the easiest thing in the world.

Clarke choked out a mirthless laugh, “How? You saw what happened earlier. He hates me.”

Lincoln shook his head, “If you truly believe that, you are as blind as he is.”

She was about to ask what he meant by that when a flicker of light off in the distance caught her attention. It had to be a campfire, less than a mile back in the direction they’d come from.

Once again, Lincoln seemed to read her mind. “We are being followed.”

“You already knew.” It wasn’t a question, but her tone wasn’t accusatory. If he hadn’t said anything, there was a reason. “Which clan?”

He pulled out his blade and began methodically sharpening it, “I do not know. I suspect Azgeda, which is why I did not say anything, but for now it does not matter.”

A cool gust of wind swept across the open ground, making Clarke shiver. It wasn’t hard to understand why their pursuers had risked a fire. “And if they get closer?”

Thumbing the sword’s edge, Lincoln was the very picture of composure, “If that time comes, we will not be caught off guard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but hopefully what it lacks in length it makes up for in substance...or something. Reviews are welcome!


	10. Fire

It took them four days to reach the desert, four days that felt like an eternity. By the time the first grains of sand were underfoot, Clarke was almost ready to step on one of the hidden landmines Murphy had warned them about.

She was walking on eggshells around Bellamy, fumbling and awkward, and trying not to cause the already seemingly insurmountable distance between them to widen. Lincoln’s words had caused her to hope, however foolishly, that someday that chasm might be bridged. She fought the constant sense of unease that came with the knowledge that one was being followed (and that someone who slept in her camp every night might belong to the same clan); and she hadn’t told Bellamy about the possible danger they were in, which made her feel guilty and only added to the stiffness in their brief interactions. Octavia still eyed her with distrust and Echo treated her with disdain, while Herrera stayed coolly aloof.

Clarke was a little surprised she hadn’t snapped under the strain.

The one bright spot she could find was that, in spite of her concern over their pursuers, she was sleeping better. After the first night, Lincoln had handed her a pouch of dried leaves she couldn’t identify and quietly told her they would help. They did…to a point. The nightmares still reared their ugly heads, but they tended to hold off making an appearance until early morning, which was probably when the plant’s effects wore off. This meant she got more hours of uninterrupted rest, and as a result, she hadn’t tried to fall off any more cliffs.

She’d take it.

“Wow, this place is…nice.” Wick shielded his eyes against the sun. “At least it’s a little warmer, right?”

Raven patted him on the back, “Sure, and maybe if we get really lucky during our visit, we’ll trigger a mine and explode or die of dehydration.”

Shaking his head woefully, Wick sighed, “I’m just trying to bring a little sunshine into everyone’s lives and you had to go and ruin it.”

Murphy snorted and toed the sand, “I’m not sure if you’ve looked around lately, but sunshine isn’t really in short supply.”

“Well, at least we can do something about the minefield when we reach it,” Wick dug through his equipment and pulled out a meter-long tube with a small ring on one end. When he pushed a button on the side, it extended to three times its original size. “Voila!” He grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

Octavia was skeptical, “So, a dowsing rod?”

“In this case, it might as well be.” Raven snatched it out of Wick’s hands and inspected it carefully, “It’s a metal detector.”

Loosely wrapping a scarf around her head, Echo turned to Murphy, “This is what you used before?”

His face hardened, “No.”

Comprehension started creeping into the back of Clarke’s mind.

Echo frowned, “Then how did—”

“Most of them didn’t,” Herrera cut her off grimly as he came to the same realization Clarke had.

A hushed silence fell over the group as they stood at the edge of the barren landscape with expressions ranging from solemn to apprehensive.

“Right,” Bellamy’s voice demanded everyone’s attention. “We’ve got a couple of geniuses with us who thought of everything, so let’s just take it one step at a time and we’ll be fine.”

Raven grinned widely, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“About _us_ ,” Wick emphasized, moving his hand back and forth in the space between them.

Bellamy grunted in response, “Don’t get used to it.” His gaze settled on Clarke for a single moment before skittering away to the sea of sand. Looking to see if she was going to add any words of wisdom perhaps, or waiting to see if she would take charge. She had no intention of doing either. Maybe, just maybe, he was looking to her because he’d briefly forgotten that ‘together’ didn’t exist anymore.

He rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off a weight, “Let’s get moving.”

A few miles into their trek, Murphy stopped and motioned for everyone else to do the same. Squinting at the landscape, he pursed his lips and stated flatly, “Now would be a good time to start watching your step.”

It was slow going after that. They moved in a single file line, Wick shuffling along in the lead sweeping the metal detector in the widest swaths he could manage. Every time it started beeping, ten people turned into anxious statues, no one so much as shifting their weight until the offending mine was located. Being out in the open and exposed made Clarke’s skin crawl, and she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder at every distant sound or imagined movement spotted out of the corner of her eye. If whoever was following them had less than friendly intentions, they would be perfect prey. Luckily, she was at the rear of the procession, so it was unlikely she would have to explain her paranoid behavior to anyone.

A sudden gust of wind sent sand swirling into the air a few feet away, and Clarke flinched away reflexively. Mentally berating herself for being overly jumpy in a minefield, she failed to notice the line was no long moving and almost slammed into Harper’s back.

“What is that?” The question was strained, and Clarke found out why when she saw what had caught the girl’s attention.

Freed from a sand dune less than twenty feet away, a strip of fabric fluttered in the breeze, the original color unrecognizable. Attached to that fabric was a blackened human arm.

From somewhere up the line came the sound of someone dry heaving. It sounded like Herrera, and Clarke’s estimation of the man went up a notch. If the sight of a severed arm made him sick, he probably hadn’t seen a lot of violence, which meant he probably hadn’t been at the imparting end of any. For instance, it was unlikely he’d done anything along the lines of irradiating a bunker filled with hundreds of men, women and children.

The grotesque image made her think of Maya with her beautiful skin cracked and blistered, of the Trikru writhing in anguish at the gates of TonDC while their bodies burned, and Clarke had to look away.

It was automatic; she turned to search for Bellamy, because while the majority of her waking hours were spent acutely aware of the fact that what they had was gone, her heart had a hard time remembering.

She found him, and alarm bells instantly went off in her head. His eyes were blank, unseeing, and his hands were clenched tightly into fists. The muscles in his arms jumped, and he leaned forward, seemingly mesmerized by the horrible scene. Clarke knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what he was about to do.

He took a step forward.

“Bellamy, don’t!” Without a hint of hesitation she stepped out of the line, praying that she was judging the width of the cleared path correctly, and launched herself into him. Her trajectory wasn’t perfect, but the force was enough to knock him off his feet, and they hit the ground in a tangled heap of awkward angles.

He fought her then, eyes wild, twisting and shoving in an attempt to get away. It broke her heart to be the cause of his distress, but she couldn’t let him go while his mind was obviously still somewhere else. But he was bigger than her, and more desperate; it wouldn’t be long before the choice was taken from her. He started thrashing back and forth, and when the motion brought him closest, Clarke struck, clutching a handful of his shirt and letting his momentum pull her onto his chest. From there, she forcefully grabbed his face with both hands, “It isn’t them, Bellamy; this isn’t Mount Weather! Please…” He stilled and closed his eyes, and she lowered her forehead to his, “Please come back to me.”

His lashes fluttered open and he was there, his expression achingly haunted, but still with her. Clarke could have wept with relief. Unwilling to lose contact just yet, she left her hands where they were, her now gentle touch a mirror of his when their positions had been reversed. One thumb brushed across his cheek, and a shuddering sigh escaped his lips. His eyes shone with an intensity that imprisoned her, and she felt a flash of whatever it was that had passed between them at Arkadia’s gate.

“Bell?” Knees hit the ground next to them and the moment was broken. Octavia nodded curtly to her as Clarke reluctantly moved out of the way, then turned her focus to her brother.

Sitting up slowly, Bellamy rested a hand on his sister’s arm. “I’m okay, O.” The quiet way he spoke did a lot to belie that statement.

No one else uttered a word. The only people who didn’t seem surprised were Raven and Lincoln; the former was broadcasting her distress in the form of frustration, her lips pursed and her arms tightly crossed. The latter watched the siblings’ exchange, concern evident from the furrow in his brow.

The way everyone else was looking at Bellamy made Clarke sick; he didn’t deserve the dismay, and he wouldn’t have wanted the pity. Suddenly overcome by a fierce protectiveness, she wanted to shield him from their eyes and scream that nothing had changed.

Just as she was about to do something she would end up regretting, Murphy offered Bellamy a hand, “Wow Blake, and I thought I had problems.”

Clarke was horrified, and the remark clearly caught Bellamy off guard. A second ticked by, then another, and then he visibly relaxed and took the proffered hand with a wry smile. “Nothing like a little healthy competition.”

And with that, the awkwardness subsided. Clarke wasn’t sure if the incident would make anyone view Bellamy differently going forward; but with one dubiously inappropriate comment, Murphy had reestablished a sense of normalcy—or whatever passed for it during a mission to save the world.

The righteous indignation drained out of her, and she was struck with the terrible realization Bellamy could have died. That comprehension was accompanied by the sudden urge to vomit, something she only managed to avoid by breathing shallowly through her nose as she held her head in her hands.

_I can’t lose you too_. It was as true now as it had ever been.

The truth was, if Bellamy Blake died, Clarke Griffin would lose a piece of herself she’d never get back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been almost two months since the last chapter. Just rest assured I have no intention of giving up on this story. Thank you for all the comments and kudos!


	11. Stack Effect

“I wanted to thank you,” Octavia’s voice was clipped, and the stiffness in her posture made Clarke think that ‘wanted’ was too strong a word.

They had stopped to rest in the shade provided by the solar arrays, partially because Raven and Wick wanted to run diagnostics, but mostly because the day had already been rife with all the wrong kinds of excitement.

Her nerves still frayed, Clarke hadn’t been able to sit still, and so she wandered, weaving in and out of the rows of panels and using the riddle of the so called City of Light to distract herself. She never moved far enough away that Bellamy was out of sight, however. It was illogical, the constant need to be reassured that he was actually alive and unharmed; but one of her deepest fears had almost come to fruition, and Clarke decided that for the time being, logic was overrated.

Tearing her eyes away from him, she had turned to scan the expanse for any sign of their pursuers when she noticed Octavia stalking toward her with purpose. Noticing the frown gracing the younger girl’s face, she braced herself for a confrontation.

This was far from what she had imagined.

Unsure where this was all coming from, Clarke cautiously asked, “For what?”

The response was terse, “For saving my brother’s life.”

For something she would have done a hundred times over, something she would do again without question. Clarke shook her head, “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Octavia was adamant, her mouth twisting into grim smile, “Because I don’t want to owe anything to the great _Wanheda_.”

That stung, but it was more along the lines of what Clarke had been expecting.

Keeping a tight rein on her emotions, she attempted to meet Octavia’s ire with composure. “None of you could ever owe me anything,” she was pleased that her voice only held the slightest hint of a quaver, “But if you want to keep score, then I am the one who’s the deepest in debt. I owe Bellamy for saving me more times than he should have; and I owe you…for TonDC.”

Octavia looked away, “This doesn’t make up for what you did.” The words were laced with more pain than anger.

“I know,” Clarke briefly closed her eyes as she answered in a near whisper, “There’s more red than I could ever wash out.”

“Keep trying.” With that, the young warrior turned and left.

And Clarke wondered if Octavia might forgive her before she forgave herself.

* * *

 

That night, Clarke was jolted out of her dreamless sleep by an uproar. In the split second it took her to fully wake up, she managed to catalogue some of the sounds: a woman yelling, the nearby scraping of feet, a muffled curse as someone scrambled out of their blankets.

They were under attack. She moved quickly, kicking her legs free and grabbing the needle-point knife stashed under her makeshift pillow. Jumping to her feet, she assumed a defensive stance and tried to get a sense of what was happening.

The scene that greeted her was chaos. With only the moonlight to see by, Clarke could make out dozens of forms embroiled in a wild melee, but from any kind of distance it was difficult to tell friend from foe. It was immediately obvious the attackers had taken the group by surprise; otherwise fighting at such close quarters wouldn’t have been necessary. The camp’s defenders had either been unable to reach their guns, or more likely, weren’t using them for fear of collateral damage.

Sensing movement to her right, Clarke spun and only just managed to parry the sword stroke aimed at her head. Her attacker was a Grounder, haggard and thin, and wearing an air of desperation that she knew from experience made him more dangerous than he looked.

Someone cried out in pain, and Clarke broke out in a cold sweat as she thought about who might have been injured. The Grounder took advantage of the distraction to go on the offensive again, slashing wildly. This time she didn’t react quickly enough, and the blade managed to catch her across the forearm as she jumped back.

Her resulting counterattack wasn’t any more graceful, but her aim was true, and the man fell to the ground with a gasp, trying to hold the edges of his stomach together.

A shriek cut through the night, and Clarke was knocked off her feet as something heavy plowed into her side. The air was driven violently from her lungs, and black spots danced across her vision as she frantically tried to identify the source of danger. Cold metal flashed in the moonlight, and she rolled to the side a split second before a spear stuck in the ground where her heart had been.

The motion allowed her to finally suck in a deep enough breath that Clarke no longer felt like she was suffocating, and her body responded by regaining its normal speed of movement. Everything snapped into focus, and she found herself staring up at a woman with dark braided hair, kohl-blackened eyes, and a sneer twisting her lips—in short, a woman who looked like Lexa.

Baring her teeth in a feral snarl, Clarke was upright and lunging before her mind even registered what she was doing.

The woman tried valiantly to fight back, but the force of Clarke’s rage was overwhelming. All of the fear and despair she’d felt standing in front of that sealed door watching her supposed allies turn their backs on her was channeled into furious attack.

A final twisting move had the Grounder disarmed with a blade at her throat.

“Were you the ones following us?” Clarke growled, pressing the tip of the knife in until it drew blood, “Answer me!” It barely registered that the sounds of battle around her had quieted.

Eyes that had been filled with defiance were now blown wide with fear, and curled lips now trembled. The face underneath those fierce dark markings wasn’t one of a seasoned warrior, as Clarke had originally thought, but of a girl not much older than she was.

Sense returned. All at once the anger bled out of her, an exsanguination of violent sentiment.

Disconcerted by her reaction, Clarke pulled her knife back. There was a visible sigh of relief from the female Grounder, who clasped her hands together and began begging to be allowed to go free.

The litany of words suddenly stopped, and a look of shock crossed her face. The tip of her own spear erupted from her chest, blood blossoming around it like a macabre flower.

She slumped to the ground and Echo stood over her motionless body wearing an expression of grim satisfaction.

Clarke was incredulous. “What was that for?” She demanded, her voice rising with each word, “She obviously wasn’t a threat anymore.”

Echo yanked the spear out and fixed her with a look that was coldly appraising, “So you, of all people, would judge me?” She shook her head, “It is not your place. You have no ground to stand on, Wanheda.”

“That isn’t my name,” Clarke ground out through tightly clenched teeth.

“Yet it is who you are,” Echo replied evenly, turning on her heel, “And that is something you cannot escape, no matter how long or far you run.”


	12. Updraft

A fine sheen of sweat covered Wick’s increasingly pale face, “Sorry, I’m not normally so squeamish around blood. It’s just that this time, it’s mine.”

Clarke did her best to keep her expression neutral as she examined the gaping wound in his shoulder, “You’re doing just fine.”

She directed Raven, who was almost the same shade of white as Wick, to reapply pressure with a wad of cloth that was already soaked with too much red.

“Knew you couldn’t resist a chance to put your hands on me, Reyes.”

The mechanic responded with a half-hearted glare, “In your dreams.” Her other hand found its way into his anyway.

Pretending not to notice, Clarke cleared her throat and began relaying her conclusions in a clinical manner, “Well the good news is that the blow missed your axillary artery, otherwise you’d already be dead. The bad news is that your shoulder is going to keep bleeding without some kind of intervention. The best way to treat the injury would be to stitch up your shoulder in a sterile environment. Unfortunately, we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

Raven stared at her, “Wow, living out in the woods for a few months did some serious damage to your bedside manner.”

“Sorry,” Heat rose to her cheeks as Clarke realized how her diagnosis must have sounded. “What I was going to add is that there is something I can do,” she met Wick’s fevered gaze, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He coughed out a laugh, “Can’t say any of this has been really enjoyable. Do what you need to do.”

With a firm nod, Clarke tried to sound confident, “Okay, let me update the others and then we’ll fix you up.”

As she walked away, she heard Raven’s murmured assurance, “See, you’re going to be fine. Clarke knows what she’s doing.”

She was glad someone felt that way.

When she reached him, Bellamy was propped up against his pack directing a look of long-suffering at his sister as she carefully applied gauze to a thin cut below his ribs. Straightening as he noticed Clarke approaching, his brow furrowed at whatever he saw in her posture, “How is he?”

Suddenly everyone’s attention was focused on her.

She worried her lip, “He’s losing too much blood; I’m going to have to cauterize the wound. I don’t like it—the risk of infection is too high—but it’s the only choice.”

Their bond as leaders may have been broken, but Bellamy’s ability to read her was at least partially intact. He caught what she wasn’t saying, “Which means we’ll have to start a fire.”

“After we were just attacked?” Herrera demanded, clutching his gun tighter.

Clarke hurried to reassure them, “It will be small, and it won’t be burning very long.”

“If there are others out there looking for us, they’re not going to need a bonfire to pinpoint our location,” he retorted.

Murphy seemed profoundly unimpressed by the guard’s attitude. “Maybe with a fire we’d be more likely to see them coming,” he quipped.

Harper spoke gingerly around her split lip, “Just to put things into perspective, Lincoln suggested we stop making campfires four days ago, and the Grounders found us anyway.” She mouthed a ‘sorry’ in his direction, which he quickly waved away.

“That’s right…” Echo trailed off thoughtfully, her measuring gaze flickering between Lincoln and Clarke before fixing on the latter, “What you said to that woman before I silenced her—you asked if they were the ones following us.”

Knowing what was coming, Clarke desperately wanted to mount an elegant defense wherein she would utilize logic to properly explain her position, but every piece of her perfectly constructed answer evaporated when she saw the hardening of Bellamy’s expression.

The hammer fell.

“You knew.” Echo’s tone left no doubt that this time the words were an accusation. The withering glare Clarke had received was redirected to Lincoln. “Both of you did.”

If anything else was said, it was drowned out by the roaring in Clarke’s ears. This wasn’t how she’d wanted them to find out, wasn’t how she wanted him to find out. Bellamy wouldn’t meet her eyes and Wick was bleeding and maybe it was because of her and she’d made another choice that would feature in her nightmares and WHY WOULDN’T HE LOOK AT HER!

“Bellamy,” Her voice was small and pleading, and she was too far gone to care, “It’s not…”

Not what? Not like when they first landed and she didn’t trust him because all she could see was an arrogant boy playing king? Not like when a missile was going to fall on his sister and she hadn’t told him about it? Not like when he’d practically begged her to stay and she’d turned and walked away anyway?

She shook her head and tried to think of a response that wouldn’t rip open their wounds and then pour salt in them while they had an audience.

“I was unsure which clan was following us,” Lincoln spoke up, and Clarke knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to try to shoulder all the blame.

“We thought they might be Ice Nation,” she cut in quickly. They had each made a choice, and shared an equal responsibility. She wasn’t about to let him try to protect her from the fallout.

If Echo had been upset before, she was downright livid now. Her eyes flashed as she rounded on Clarke, “And you assumed I had betrayed your people? You’re so quick to convict others of the sins you have committed. I was not the one who dealt out judgement and then left others to clean up the mess. I did not abandon those who loved me when they needed me most.”

“Enough.” Bellamy commanded, his voice as adamantine as the rest of him. It didn’t matter that less than a day earlier they’d seen him at his most vulnerable; everyone listened when he spoke. Clarke was grateful for that, at least. “Right now, Wick needs help,” he continued, “The closest thing we have to a doctor said we need to build a fire, so that’s what we’re going to do. Harper and Murphy, try to find anything that’ll burn. Everyone else, we’re going to set up a perimeter. If the Grounders come after us, we’ll be ready this time.”

The decision made, the group moved seamlessly to carry out Bellamy’s orders. At least for now, the situation had been diffused.

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured. Bellamy set his jaw and looked away. For a long horrible moment, she thought he was just going to ignore her. Finally, he nodded once, and then turned and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken so long to update! My computer basically blew up so I had to order a new one and wait like, two weeks for it to show up. I know this chapter is short, but hopefully it tides you over until the next one!


	13. Oxidation

In the end, nothing happened.

Well, not nothing exactly. Raven and Octavia had to hold Wick down while Clarke held scorching hot metal to his shoulder, sweat beading on her forehead as she inflicted enough pain to render him nearly senseless.

A rolled up bandage acted as a noise reducer and a guard against him biting his own tongue off; but even muffled, the screams were loud enough that any bandits drawn in by the fire would have been able to locate their targets even when it was doused.

But an attack never came.

Nor did an explanation as to why one had occurred in the first place.

Murphy mentioned his brief run-in with Emori, and theorized that bigger groups could be roaming the wastes with less compunction toward the use of violence to procure what they wanted. Lincoln agreed, guessing that the raiders hadn’t expected such resistance from their intended victims. He didn’t think they would return to finish what they’d started.

Still, Clarke was uneasy. They all were.

Bellamy’s plan was to start having pairs take shifts on watch duty in the hope that two sets of eyes would be less likely to be caught off guard than one (Harper had apologized profusely for not raising the alarm, but since she’d been waylaid by three Grounders at the onset of the attack, everyone had hurried to reassure her she wasn’t to blame).

After Wick was stable they quickly packed up and moved again, just far enough away from where they’d landed after fleeing the initial attack site that any bandits returning with reinforcements would have to work a little harder to find their prey.

Clarke suggested sending Wick home the next morning.

Wick flat out refused. “We’re so close,” he argued, attempting to stand up despite her orders to the contrary, “And how many people are you going to send back with me to get me to Arkadia? Can you really afford to split your numbers like that? Besides, what if you need my help with the warhead? That’s why I came along after all. It wasn’t for my admittedly good looks or stellar fighting abilities.”

That led to a comment from Raven about just how little value his engineering skills actually had as she gently tried to push him back to the ground.

When it was all over, Wick had won his case.

Even as emotionally wrung out and physically exhausted as she was, Clarke knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep during the few hours of darkness they had left, so she’d volunteered to go on watch.

As it turned out, Bellamy had already done the same. He’d brusquely shoved a pistol into her hands and then marched to the other side of the camp.

That had been over an hour ago.

Clarke sighed and checked the magazine of her gun for the umpteenth time. It was still loaded. She sighed again, more deeply this time, and decided that things weren’t going to fix themselves. She was tired of the tension, tired of being stuck in an awkward limbo, and tired of the ache in her heart whenever she looked at Bellamy. It was as good a time as any to talk to him, even though the very idea of doing so had her contemplating running for the hills.

But no one had ever called Clarke Griffin a coward, and she wasn’t about to give them a reason to start now.

Crossing the physical distance to reach him was quick and painless; crossing the figurative distance wouldn’t be so easy.

“Bellamy.” His name fell gently from her lips as she lowered herself next to him. It was the same tone of voice used to soothe frightened children or keep skittish animals from bolting.

“Clarke.” He eyed her warily, but didn’t move away.

If she closed her eyes she could pretend this was just another sleepless night back at the dropship, when the two of them would sit next to the fire to share the burden of leadership. They had disagreed…a lot, but their trust in each other had been hard-won, and so they were indivisible. Even though they’d been faced with the daunting task of keeping the one hundred delinquents alive on a dangerous world they knew little about, things had been simpler then.

“I wanted to…” she looked at her hands. Why did this have to be so hard? “I need to explain why I didn’t tell anyone we were being followed.”

He held up a hand, and her heart sank. He wasn’t even going to give her a chance…

“I know why you didn’t tell everyone. O and I talked about it and she helped me see things from your point of view.”

Clarke blinked, her mind struggling to process the unexpected response. “Oh; I uh, wouldn’t have expected your sister to come to my defense.”

“I’m pretty sure it was Lincoln she was worried about,” he replied bluntly.

Right. Of course.

Bellamy shifted so his body was angled toward hers, “I understand why you didn’t tell everyone; what I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell _me_.” Two months’ worth of pain and confusion seeped into that last word, despite the tight rein he was keeping on his emotions.

A lump pushed its way up into her throat, and Clarke knew she would have to pick her words very carefully. His question wasn’t coming from a place of logic (after all, Lincoln hadn’t told Octavia either). It was coming from the deepest part of him, the place where he kept his assortment of afflictions, the place he had buried the festering wound she never meant to inflict.

The time had come for her to be completely honest, with herself and with Bellamy.

“I thought Echo may have been involved and I was worried that after…everything, you wouldn’t believe me. I thought that you would take her side.” The lump was expanding, trying to steal the breath from her words before she could utter them. “I haven’t given you a lot of reasons to trust me lately.”

The confession, heavy with an unspoken question, condensed and hung in the air between them.

“I do.” When Bellamy eventually spoke, his voice was as uneven as hers, “I do trust you.”

“How?” Clarke breathed, incredulous, “After what I’ve done?”

His mouth tightened, and a hint of anger crept into his tone, “You’re not the only one who had to make hard choices.”

“But I’m the one who made those choices necessary,” she insisted, “I pushed for the alliance with Lexa because I was foolish enough to trust her. We were forced to pull that lever because of me.”

There. She’d finally said it. The guilt that had been gnawing at her found its release.

“You give yourself too much credit,” Bellamy retorted, somehow managing to sound exasperated and sympathetic at the same time.

Closing her eyes briefly, Clarke laid out the rest of her sins. “I sent you to infiltrate the Mountain by yourself because I was trying to fool myself into believing that caring about people is a character flaw. And what about TonDC? Those people are dead because I didn’t warn them a missile was about to fall on them. Your sister could have been one of them.”

He flinched like she’d dealt him a physical blow, but didn’t seem surprised. Octavia must have told him what happened. Good; Clarke didn’t want to be the messenger of that particular revelation. It was painful enough to have to say it out loud.

“I may not agree with some of your choices, and believe me when I say it has taken me a long time not to want to yell at you for some of them,” Bellamy swallowed hard, hands clenching reflexively on his gun, then relaxing as he sighed, “But you were doing what you thought you had to do to save our people.”

Clarke should have felt relieved, but the memories that fueled her nightmares made it hard to feel anything but sorrow. “I never meant—“ Her face twisted and she barked out a derisive laugh, “I guess it doesn’t matter now. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Which parts, specifically, are you sorry for?” Bellamy challenged, “Just what happened before we pulled that lever? At least I understand those decisions. What I can’t wrap my head around is why you left!”

The look he fixed her with was the same one she’d seen when she’d walked through Arkadia’s gates, full of such an aching rawness she wanted to rip out the broken pieces of her own heart and stuff them into his chest just so he’d have one whole one.

“Why did you leave?” He sounded so lost, the fight completely drained out of him.

Silent tears made tracks down her face, “Bellamy…”

He shook his head, then added in a choked whisper, “Why couldn’t I make you stay?”

And suddenly Clarke knew why he was so torn up inside. All those months ago, her words had been enough to keep him from leaving. He couldn’t understand why his words hadn’t been enough for her.

He couldn’t understand why _he_ hadn’t been enough.

She laid her hand on his and counted it a minor victory when he didn’t recoil from her touch.

“Listen to me,” she tried for forceful, but the wavering notes turned the order into a prayer, “I left because I knew what others would call me, and I was terrified they’d be right. I left because I didn’t want them to think about you the same way. I left because I didn’t want you to be torn between me and Octavia when you found out about TonDC. I left because I feared retribution, and because pulling that lever together would make you feel duty-bound to fall on your sword for me. I couldn’t bear to watch that happen, Bellamy; I couldn’t.”

Taking a deep breath, Clarke curled her fingers into his palm and willed him to understand, “I left to try to save myself; but more than that, I left to save you.”

Bellamy stared at their point of contact as though transfixed, seemingly completely still, but she could feel him shaking under her touch.

Emotion overwhelmed her and she had to look away as fresh moisture pooled in the corners of her eyes. “I won’t apologize for trying to be the one to protect you, for a change; but I am so very sorry for hurting you, and for leaving you to deal with the aftermath alone. I wish I could ease that pain, but I don’t know how.”

Suddenly Clarke was enveloped by warmth, and when she inhaled she could smell the familiar combination of sunshine and gunpowder and wood smoke she’d missed during her exile. Bellamy’s essence surrounded her and she was home.

“You’re here now,” he murmured into her hair. “That's a good place to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I broke one of the Cardinal rules of story writing and created a chapter that was basically just dialogue, but Bellamy and Clarke needed to have it out, and that wasn't about to be resolved in the space of a couple paragraphs. From here on out things will start to move much more quickly.


	14. Blaze

The next morning, they made it to a large body of water. Small waves gently lapped at the sand, and the wind rustled what little grass there was dotted along the shoreline. Far in the distance, their destination could just be made out as a dark blot on the horizon, silhouetted by the rising sun.

The scene would have been idyllic had the nature of their mission not tainted it.

“Is this the ocean?” Harper wondered aloud.

Lincoln, who had his arm wrapped firmly around Wick’s waist to keep him steady, shook his head as he helped the engineer to the soft ground. “We call this the Inland Sea. It is simply a very large lake.”

Noting her disappointment, Clarke squeezed the younger girl’s shoulder, “We’ll make it there someday.”

“When everyone is done gawking, can I get a little help here?” Murphy was attempting to unearth something large and wooden half-buried in the sand.

Extra hands and a few short minutes later the rowboat was completely extracted. 

“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but there’s no way we can all fit in that,” Raven prodded the vessel with her foot.

Shrugging lazily, Murphy hoisted the oars over his shoulder, “So we take two trips.”

“We’ll lose the element of surprise,” Octavia pointed out.

“No, we won’t,” Murphy stated brusquely. At their questioning looks, he sighed deeply in resignation. “Look, I didn’t say anything before because I wasn’t sure who I could trust,” his eyes flicked briefly in Herrera and Echo’s direction, “And quite frankly, I wasn’t sure if anyone would even believe me.”

Clarke felt strangely hurt that he hadn’t confided in her, then wondered at her reaction. It wasn’t like they were friends, so why did she care if Murphy thought her trustworthy or not? Guilt took over when she realized his words were almost identical to the ones she’d used in her own defense the night before, and whatever she was feeling now would have been substantially worse for Bellamy.

Placing a hand on her hip, Octavia scoffed, “We’ve run into giant radioactive monsters, fog that melts your skin, and people who wanted to steal our blood. What could be out there that we would find so unbelievable?”

“There’s an A.I.,” Murphy crossed his arms and waited for a reaction.

Raven was the first to speak, and the questions rolled off her tongue in quick succession, “As in an Artificial Intelligence? How advanced? What is it programmed for? Can it access the nuclear device?”

Holding up his hands, Murphy grimaced, “Easy on the interrogation, Reyes. Her name is A.L.I.E. and as far as I know, she has control over everything on that island except the bomb.”

Wick raised an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, she?”

“A.L.I.E. projects herself in a hologram sometimes,” Murphy shrugged, “She…it looks like a woman.”

Furrowing her brow, Clarke thought about his previous statement. “What makes you think she doesn’t have control over the bomb?” 

“She showed it to Jaha as soon as we got there, and has been manipulating him ever since,” Murphy shook his head, “Has him spouting some nonsense about how he will be the one to purify mankind through destruction. I don’t see why she would go through all the trouble to mess with his head if she could just set the nuke off herself.”

In a rare show of solidarity, Echo took a step closer to Lincoln, whose look of confusion mirrored her own, “I do not understand, is this a thing that can be fought?”

“Not with conventional weaponry,” Wick answered with a cough, “Luckily you’ve got us.” He motioned to Raven with a weak smile.

The mechanic huffed in response, “Great, and I thought there was a lot of pressure when it was just the nuclear device we had to deal with.”

Up until that point Bellamy had remained surprisingly silent, seemingly trying to absorb the latest hitch in the mission. With his gaze directed across the water, he suddenly asked the question that must have been weighing on his mind, “So this…being is aware of everything that happens on the island, right? That’s why we won’t have the element of surprise. How rough is this going to get for us if this A.L.I.E. figures out we’re there to ruin her carefully laid plans?”

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Murphy followed Bellamy’s example and turned his attention to their destination. “Honestly? I don’t know, but I doubt she’ll throw us a party; at least, not the kind I’d like to be invited to.” 

Bellamy’s eyes found Clarke’s for the briefest of moments, an acknowledgement of the danger to come and an affirmation that each had the other’s back. It would take a long time for them to fully heal, but the frayed lifeline that tethered them together had been rewoven. This was what she had missed, what she had been afraid she would never get back. The sensation was almost overwhelming; and she found it ironic that at a time when they were facing the end of their existence, it was this familiar comfort that threatened to undo her.

He squared his shoulders, the physical motion an outward sign of an inward decision, and began laying out their next course of action, “All right, this doesn’t change what we have to do, so let’s get over there and take that bomb offline. Raven, Murphy, Echo, Lincoln, and Clarke, you’ll take the first trip over with me. We’ll secure the beach and Lincoln will come back to get the rest of you. Any questions?”

“I have one,” Herrera raised his hand like a student in class, “Are we sure that boat is going to hold six people?”

“Not comfortably,” Murphy gave him a sly wink then chuckled as the guard spluttered indignantly.

Clarke shook her head and grabbed the instigator’s elbow. “Play nice,” she admonished in a whisper, then cut off his retort by motioning toward the boat, “After you.”


	15. Conflagration I

The boat ride was tense, the uncertainty of what they would find on the far shore settling over them like a dark cloud.

The close confines of the overcrowded vessel only made things more uncomfortable. There had been a lot of shuffling and reshuffling as they tried to squeeze everyone on board, and somehow Clarke had the incredible misfortune of ending up pressed In between Bellamy and Echo. Even though she had never felt claustrophobic in her life, the immediate sensation of being trapped sent her heart rate into overdrive. She was a live wire, trying to minimize points of contact and acutely aware of every time she failed. She wasn’t sure exactly where she stood with the young Azgeda warrior, but she doubted fixing things with Bellamy would result in the sudden development of warm feelings, especially if it disrupted the dynamic between him and Echo. Physically sitting between them felt unpleasantly symbolic, and she didn’t want to fan the flames by making the wrong move.

By the time they reached the island, Clarke was ready to crawl out of her skin. As soon as the boat touched sand she leaped over the side, not caring that she ended up soaked from the knees down. In her haste, she nearly collided with Murphy, who had helped Lincoln haul the boat ashore.

“Jeez, Griffin, if I’d known how eager you were to get wet, I would have let you take my place.” There was more bite to the words than normal, and the accompanying smirk was barely noticeable. The tension was getting to him too.

Squeezing his shoulder in support, Clarke pulled the pistol out of the waistband of her pants and tried to extend the same hyper-awareness that had frayed her nerves on the boat to their new surroundings. There was no movement save the gentle roll of the waves, and no other sound than the movement of water. No birds, no insects—nothing.

It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“It’s just up the hill,” Murphy spoke softly, either afraid or unwilling to disturb the stillness more than was necessary.

Bellamy managed to hear him. “What is?”

“Everything.”

Taking a step forward, Clarke was about to ask him what he meant when the quiet was shattered by a resonating rumble. She barely had time to swing her gun around in the direction she thought the sound had come from when it stopped.

“What was that?” Echo hissed, arrow at the ready.

A low humming filled the air, reminiscent of the angry bees in the hive Monty had stumbled upon during their first week on the ground.

“Okay, forget the first sound; what is THAT?” Raven clutched her equipment closer and craned her neck to try to see over the tree line.

The buzzing got higher and louder, and they all instinctively drifted closer together.

“Murphy—” Bellamy’s question was evident in his urgent tone.

“I don’t know!”

Suddenly, a dozen drones crested the hill, heading right for them.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Echo let her first arrow fly. Her aim was true, but the drone she’d been targeting shot up higher, lightning fast, and the missile sailed by harmlessly underneath.

“Hold your fire,” Bellamy ordered, one hand held up in the air and the other holding the butt of his gun to his shoulder, “We don’t know why these things are here.”

The answer came in the form of a salvo of laser fire directed at the ground behind them.

Springing forward, Clarke glanced back to see smoking holes left in the sand inches from where she’d been standing. The drones continued to move closer and fired another burst, once again aiming directly behind their feet. Realization dawned in a flash. “They’re trying to herd us somewhere!” She called to Bellamy.

He nodded tersely and turned to Lincoln, “Get back to the boat!” Bringing his rifle to eye level he barked, “Everyone else open fire!”

Bobbing and weaving to avoid the sudden attack, the drones buzzed over their heads and positioned themselves between the humans and their only means of escape. Lincoln skidded to a stop and considered them for a moment, then growled and stalked forward, earning himself a glancing shot across the rib cage as a reward. He faltered, and Clarke started running, the healer in her taking control before she could even think of the consequences.

Bellamy shouted her name, and fire suddenly blossomed across her arm as she reached Lincoln’s side. A cursory glance showed a swath of scorched skin right next to the laceration she’d received the night before. The first ridiculous thought that popped into her head was that she would have to invest in a lot more long-sleeved shirts.

Lincoln straightened and grimaced, one arm hovering over his side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m pretty sure I should be asking you that.” Clarke hastily scanned him from head to toe, “Can you move?” Laser fire peppered the ground and Lincoln jumped out of the way, yanking on her good arm to pull her along.

The look he gave her seemed to suggest a certain level of stupidity in her question, even though that quick movement had clearly pained him, “I am fine. You should not have come for me.”

It took everything in her power not to roll her eyes, “Right, I’ll make sure to add that to my growing list of regrets. Let’s go.”

The drones dogged their footsteps, forcing them into a jog to avoid being at the receiving end of any more fire. Clarke raised her eyes to see Bellamy trying to inch closer to them as he laid down covering fire. He was itching to run to them; she could see it in every line of his body.

“We’re okay!” She yelled, and the tautness in his frame loosened ever so slightly.

The duo was a few steps away when Lincoln suddenly stumbled. Clarke reached out to help him up, and was more than a little surprised to find Echo already at his side. “We need to get out of here,” the warrior said brusquely.

With no other options presenting themselves, the six of them continued retreating, each step taking them farther up the hill. “Reyes, is there anything in here that can shut these guys down?” Murphy jerked a thumb at the equipment bag he’d grabbed from her as soon as they’d started to retreat.

“Not as long as they’re shooting at us,” she retorted, wincing as a misstep put too much pressure on her bad leg.

“For now, we go where they want us to go,” Bellamy didn’t sound thrilled about having his choices removed. “This is the direction we would have taken anyway,” He glanced over at Clarke, “And we don’t need anyone else getting shot.”

With only half their total number, but she agreed with the logic. And maybe this was better—if what they were running toward was the end, at least those on the other shore would have more time before they reached theirs. A hand brushed over hers. Bellamy, offering wordless assurance that everything would work out. Once at the top of the hill, they didn’t have a lot of time for sightseeing, but Clarke tried to commit the island’s layout to memory. To the far right she could just make out the very top of a lighthouse through the trees. Directly in front of them was a large clearing; and at the far end, looking like a picture taken from the pages of her history book, was a massive building.

“Is there anything in the lighthouse?” She asked Murphy in between breaths.

Some dark and undefinable emotion flashed across his face, “We should all be thankful that’s not the direction we’re being forced to go.”

If she hadn’t been Clarke and he hadn’t been Murphy, if they weren’t being chased by machines hellbent on making sure they reached a set destination, she might have done more. Things being what they were, she settled for bumping his shoulder with her own, dragging him back from whatever terrible memories he was revisiting.

The huge building loomed closer. Twenty steps away, fifteen steps, ten. They reached the doorway, and the laser fire stopped. The drones drew back and hovered in a line a dozen meters away.

The message was clear.

“I guess this is it,” Raven panted, leaning a column for support.

Bellamy reached out and tentatively touched one of the door handles. Turning slightly, his eyes scanned their faces, lingering just a beat more on Clarke’s. “Be on your guard; we don’t know what we’re going to run into.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Ready or not, here we come.”

With a single pull, the double doors swung open, and six sets of hands reached for their weapons.

There, bathed in the glow of electric lights, was Thelonious Jaha. “Welcome,” he greeted them with a smile, “It’s been too long.”


	16. Conflagration II

The doors closed behind them with an ominous thud, and Clarke mentally congratulated herself on not jumping a foot into the air.

“You know, you didn’t have to send the robot squad after us,” Murphy addressed the former Chancellor with a sneer, “We were coming this way anyway, and we would have been in a much better mood if some of us hadn’t been shot.”

Jaha held his hands out in what was meant to be a conciliatory manner, “A.L.I.E. could not have known what your plans were. She merely wished to bring you here to ascertain your intentions.”

Unable to contain her curiosity, Clarke asked tentatively, “And where is A.L.I.E.? Is she here now?”

Looking slightly taken aback, Jaha seemed to notice her presence for the first time. “Clarke, it’s so wonderful to see you!” He addressed her as though they were meeting at one of the Ark’s formal functions instead of in a secluded building housing a nuclear bomb. “How is your mother?”

Murphy had been right; Jaha was definitely not stable.

They would have to tread carefully.

“My mother is in Polis.” She kept her tone neutral, and hoped she managed to keep any negative emotions from showing on her face, “She and Kane are working to form a coalition with the Grounders, to have peace between their people and ours. We can atone for the sins of our ancestors and humanity can finally live in peace.”

Her words had the opposite effect than what she had intended. Jaha laughed and shook his head as if she’d just told a particularly entertaining joke, “Oh child, there is no such thing as peace on Earth.”

“We will never know if we do not try,” Lincoln asserted passionately, standing tall despite the pain his injury must have been causing him.

“Yeah,” Raven piped up, sounding a little too aggravated for Clarke’s liking, “Why not give us a chance to make the mistakes ourselves? Maybe this time we’ll learn from them.”

“Perhaps I lack the words to convince you. Very well, let me show you.” Jaha stepped back and motioned to the wall on his right.

The lights dimmed, and a series of projected images began to play, some of them in black and white, some in color, each one more terrible than the last. 

Cities burning. Children screaming in the streets. Bodies mutilated beyond recognition.

The atrocities of war committed through the ages.

Clarke didn’t need to see the pictures. She had her own set permanently stamped in her mind. 

“We get it,” Bellamy ground out, “People don’t always treat each other well.”

“This is how it will always end.” The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and this time Clarke did jump.

Murphy sighed heavily, “I see you haven’t lost your flair for the dramatic. Just one problem: we’re not as gullible as your friend Jaha here.”

The air in front of them seemed to shimmer, and suddenly there was a woman standing where there had been nothing before. She was dressed completely in scarlet, a shade they’d seen too many times since coming to the ground.

Echo hissed a curse in Trigedasleng and stepped back, “What manner of spirit is this?”

“Not a spirit, this is tech.” Raven cocked her head slightly as she studied the new arrival, “And advanced tech at that. I assume you’re A.L.I.E.?”

Before she could get a response, Lincoln cut in, “She isn’t really alive?”

The woman in red clasped her hands and fixed him with unblinking eyes, “That depends on your definition of that term.”

“How did you get here? What is your purpose?” Clarke wasn’t interested in exploring centuries old Asimovian queries; she had more immediate concerns.

“I was created here. Applied Lucent Intelligence Emulator; A.L.I.E. Core Command: to make life better.”

That sounded like a good thing, but something instinctive told Clarke not to take the statement at face value. Maybe it was the fact that they’d made the trip to this island in the first place because of the presence of a weapon of mass destruction.

Clearly harboring the same doubts, Bellamy narrowed his eyes, “And how do you plan to do that?”

A.L.I.E. turned with an unnatural grace and proceeded to walk straight through Jaha, her heels eerily silent on the hard floor. She paused in front of the last image projected on the wall, that of a perfect vermillion and orange sunset marred by a mushroom cloud composed of the same colors.

“By fixing the root problem.”

Clarke wasn’t sure if she had ever been so terrified to find the answer to a question, but it wasn’t one that could stay unasked. “Which is?” Her throat almost closed around the words.  
It felt like the what was left of the world was holding its breath.

As she reached out, A.L.I.E.’s hand melded into the image. “Conflict is created due to different ideologies. As the population grows, more ideologies will form, which leads to greater conflict. Cause and effect.” 

“And your answer to this is to destroy us?!” Echo had lost whatever thin hold she’d had on her temper.

Jaha looked almost amused, “How can she make life better if she destroys us? No, A.L.I.E. will cleanse humanity, and bring about a new age where there will be no more wars or suffering.”

“Yeah, it’s the ‘cleanse’ part of that statement that has us all a little concerned,” Murphy pointed out tersely.

Stepping away from the macabre slide show, A.L.I.E. replied tonelessly, “It is necessary. Life will be better. Programming will ensure all coexist harmony within the City of Light.”

“We have seen the so-called City of Light,” Disgust dripped from her voice as Echo emphasized the name, “It is a place of glass that stores energy, nothing more.”

“No,” Raven stared at the avatar, a look somewhere between trepidation and wonder spreading across her face, “You said programming. The City of Light isn’t a physical place, is it? It’s virtual.”

It sounded unbelievable. Artificial intelligence was one thing, but an entire simulated city they were meant to inhabit? Programmed to live together without conflict. Clarke shuddered, the very idea of having her free will stripped away sending icy tendrils down her spine. 

Looking as overwhelmed as she felt, Lincoln said, “A woman who isn’t alive and a city that isn’t real. What else will this place reveal?”

“The City of Light is as real as it needs to be,” Jaha seemed personally affronted by the statement.

Bellamy stiffened nearly imperceptibly, “That kind of sounds like the sort of thing someone who’d been programmed might say.”

“What if he is?” A.L.I.E. countered, fixing him with a soulless gaze, “There is no pain or sorrow where he is; I have given Jaha the gift of a better life. You will all see soon enough.”

Drawing herself up to her full height, Clarke adopted what she hoped was a commanding air, “And if we reject your gift?”

“Then the right to choose will be taken from you.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but Clarke felt her heart sink anyway. “If you’re such an expert on humanity, you have to know we won’t just accept that.”

With a slight bow of his head, Jaha pressed his palms together, almost as if he was praying. “Please, listen to her message. A.L.I.E. has powerful weapons at her disposal that she won’t hesitate to use.” The concern in his voice seemed genuine, but they couldn’t be sure any of his words were his own.

“I already filled them in on the warhead, if that’s what you’re referring to.” Murphy shrugged, “Sorry for spilling the secret.”

For the first time since her sudden appearance, A.L.I.E.’s projected facial expression changed. Her holographic lips turned slightly down at the corners, “So that is why you have come; you wish to disarm the device.”

Jaha shook his head vehemently, his eyes turning wild. “No, you can’t. When all are safe in the city, I have been chosen to purify the Earth so it can start anew.”

The words may have sounded like the ravings of a self-appointed prophet, but the frightening scenario they painted was all too real. The situation was unraveling quickly.

Before Clarke could form any semblance of a plan, Echo had an arrow nocked and pointed at Jaha’s chest. “You are going to take us to this weapon now, or you will die where you stand.”

“He will not be going anywhere with you,” A.L.I.E. was adamant. “He does my will, and mine alone.”

With a dismissive chuckle, Murphy clapped the ex-Chancellor on the back, the contact too forceful to be friendly. “Well you’d better ‘will’ him to take us where the angry Grounder wants, because otherwise your little puppet here will be a shish kebab. Since I’m guessing you need him to physically launch your weapon of mass destruction, he won’t be much use to you as a corpse.”

The A.I. seemed to consider her…its options. It should have been comforting to know that it was impossible for emotions to come into play, but since A.L.I.E.’s logic had led to the decision to trap their minds in a virtual world while the real world was ‘cleansed,’ Clarke was still concerned.

“Very well,” the avatar shimmered slightly, then with a nod to Jaha, disappeared into thin air.

Bellamy caught Clarke’s eye and she nodded; that had been too easy.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’d rather not sit around and wait for the other shoe to drop,” Raven glanced around the room apprehensively.

All of their worst fears had just been confirmed; a little apprehension was normal. 

But fear would not turn to panic. Survival was an art they had mastered on the ground.

“Well then,” Murphy faced Jaha and bared his teeth in a smile that was almost feral, “Let’s get to that bomb, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know; it's been forever and a day since I updated. All I can say is that I've been having a really rough year so far, and I'm sorry about the lack of updates. Cheers to anyone still reading after all this time!

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've felt inspired enough by a television show to attempt a multi-chapter story, but the characters in this universe have pulled on me and I've decided to take the plunge. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Oh, and nothing relating to the 100 belongs to me, in case you were wondering; I'm just taking the characters out of the toy box for a bit to play with them.


End file.
